Curiouser and Curiouser
by xlostalongtheway
Summary: He should've known her curiosity would get her into trouble one day. Now a series of one-shots.
1. Curiouser and Curiouser

**Summary: **He should've known her curiosity would get her into trouble one day. "How much would you hate me if I just kept you this way?"

**Hmm… so yup! It's my first OUAT oneshot… and big surprise, it's Rumbelle. My OTP. I love these two so darn much, and I can't wait until season 2 begins! Gahhh. Anyways, this was inspired by the short film **_**Reversal of the Heart **_**by Carolyn Chrisman. Hope you like!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, **_**Reversal of the Heart**_**, or anything else you may or may not recognize.**

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_**Curiouser and Curiouser**_

If you could describe the former princess of Avonlea, Belle, in one word, it would be this: curious.

Extremely, blatantly, unabashedly _curious_.

It grated on the Dark One's nerves sometimes, walking into the main hall, expecting to see his pretty little caretaker dusting the cabinets, only to catch her inspecting knickknacks or having her nose buried in a book.

Granted, she was a hard worker and that more than made up for her habit of getting sidetracked, awed by every bauble or trinket she found. It was almost funny on certain occasions, watching her eyes go round and her mouth make that little _o _shape when she found something that interested her. It was even funnier when she'd turn to him, her grin reminiscent of a child's as she asked, "What's this?"

Oh yes, his pretty little caretaker was most certainly _curious_.

He should've known that curiosity would get her into trouble one day. He'd hidden most of the things she could hurt/curse/enchant/kill herself with, but that didn't mean he'd remembered to hide _everything_. But now, looking at her, in her newfound blue suit of scales and gold, he couldn't bite back a twitter of laughter.

_Good Gods, she found the amulet._

His Draco Phylacterium. It was an innocent-looking bauble at most, magicked up by an Enchantress on the eastern seaboard who liked to breed dragons. One of the babes had been a stillborn, dead upon hatching, but his dragonscore—somehow—remained intact. She'd taken the small jewel that had been embedded in the tiny thing's chest, still glowing, and fashioned it into a necklace. He'd bought it for a well enough price—the enchanted amulet for a cursed chalice. Not one of his greatest bargains, but he figured the amulet would hold some use over time.

The Enchantress had specifically warned him to _never wear it himself _unless he wanted something awful to happen to him. He'd taken the words to heart, shoving the thing away in a small velvet box in one of the guestrooms, all golden chain and glowing stone reminiscent of lapis lazuli. It had remained there for a few decades, in that room.

The room his caretaker had been occupying. The one he had given her when he noticed she wasn't far off from catching cold in that blasted dungeon.

_I knew I should've inspected that room more carefully, _Rumpelstiltskin thought as he stared up at Belle. "Dearie," he chuckled, none of his usual enthusiasm bubbling through. Well, at least he had the decency to be _somewhat _sheepish about the situation at hand. "What did you get yourself into?"

The dragon snorted, and to Rumpelstiltskin, it sounded a lot like a scoff. He had to admit, she was a beautiful dragon—all regal elegance, with dark blue scales that glinted silver when they hit the sunlight just right. Her eyes were that familiar shade of cobalt, glaring down at him as if to say, _this is your fault_.

He giggled. "I told you _specifically _not to touch anything odd-looking." And if the glowing magical amulet stuffed in the bottom drawer of the armoire where nobody could find it wasn't odd, he didn't know what was.

The dragon bowed its head, looking properly chastened. She gazed at him imploringly. _Fix this_.

"Tut, tut," he whispered, circling the girl-turned-beast, taking her in. From her dark blue scales to the large, leathery wings stretching from her back, she was the picture of regality. Much more so than she had in that ridiculous looking golden gown when she'd first arrived.

He could always call upon the Enchantress, but he highly doubted she'd want to be disturbed during the peak of spring, when all the hatchlings were only half-grown and in dire need of someone to look after them so no poor village would be caught in the crossfire of two males fighting for mating rights.

No, no. She was out. And he couldn't very well _move _Belle from the Dark Castle; the Gods only knew what ignorant prince or knight would try and kill her for her dragonscore—the dragonscore that had once belonged to the stillborn babe, glowing that rich blue, embedded into the once-girl's chest.

Belle grew impatient and snorted once more, smoke flaring from her nostrils. Her wings beat angrily. "Hey, now," Rumpelstiltskin warned when the chandelier above them rattled in protest. Maybe keeping her in the Main Hall wasn't such a good idea. "I'm thinking."

Well, there was always his last-resort plan.

He could always _break _the dragonscore.

But then his deal would've been for nothing. And then he wouldn't be able to send the thing to Regina as a practical joke (oh come _on_, it's not like she wouldn't find a way out of it sooner or later). But as he circled her, he couldn't really see any other way.

"How much would you hate me if I just kept you this way?" Rumpelstiltskin asked seriously. The dragon snorted and growled low; he was joking. His expressionless face and the dead-set look in his eyes said as much. If he was seriously thinking about keeping her this way, he'd giggle and twitter about her. The man was a contradiction in every way.

The imp sighed and prodded a few of her scales; she had half a mind to toss him into the far wall with her tail. But that would do nothing except anger him—even if she was a thousand times bigger than him, he was still _far _more powerful.

"Alright, well, I suppose I have no choice," he grumbled, grabbing a dagger from a nearby armoire. Belle eyed it warily.

He wasn't going to _slay _her, was he?

"Don't give me that look," Rumpelstiltskin scoffed. Her eyes turned from the knife to his face. "Like I'm death, come to your doorstep," he clarified. "Bend down, now, so I can get a good look at that dragonscore."

She dipped low, just low enough to bare her chest to him. Rumpelstiltskin sighed and eyed the pretty thing regretfully. Well, here it goes—the first time he'd let a deal go to _complete waste_—and plunged the dagger in the stone. It cracked easily under the cold metal, a deep cobalt light, the same shade as her eyes, came pouring out. The dragon let out something akin to a gasp (if dragons _could _gasp) as she began to shrink, as the scales melted away, as the wings retracted. There was a bright light, and then—

"By the _gods_, _Rumpelstiltskin_!"

Ah, there it was. The Dark One grinned impishly as his—very _angry_—caretaker seethed in a corner. "Don't go off blaming me, dearie," he said lightly, his pitted, yellow teeth gleaming in the light, "It was your own fault. Did I not tell you to refrain from touching the magical and suspicious-looking objects?"

"It was a _necklace_," Belle mumbled, trying to preserve as much dignity as possible, "I didn't think it'd do any harm…" she trailed away, looking down at her shoes in a mixture of wounded pride and irritation.

Rumpelstiltskin eyed her for a moment before letting his grin slide. "Well, I'd get back to work if I were you—the tea won't make itself—" He cleared his throat and began to walk away.

"Thank you."

He paused. "For what, dearie?"

"Turning me back." He heard her footsteps—light, airy—as they walked farther away, towards the kitchens. "You didn't have to. You didn't have to bother." The words were jumbled and awkward as they left her mouth and traveled to him. He sighed and hid his smile, shaking his head.

Oh, but he did have to. "You're my caretaker, Belle, and I'd prefer to have you human."

"You liked that amulet. I saw the way you looked at it. It was the same look my father gave his favorite horse before putting him down."

Ah, was he getting that easy to read? He'd have to change that. Couldn't have her reading him like an open book, could he? "It was gathering dust in that armoire," the imp said offhandedly, "I'd completely forgotten about it. So in a way, you did me a favor." Actually, he remembered the amulet quite clearly—the only reason he'd never _used _it was because it had been—ah, _misplaced_ for the last thirty-seven years.

He could almost _hear _her smile. "Alright, then."

He paused before heading up the stairs of the west wing. "Go get the tea, dearie," he twittered lightly, before disappearing in a flash of smoke. It would be months until he figured out exactly _why _it was he'd let a deal (eventually, _two deals_) go to waste for his pretty little caretaker, but for now, he'd let it go.

**Hmmm. So yeah. I don't think I like this, but I like the concept, so I figured, why not? My writing's gotten so rusty… but still, I hope you guys liked it!**

**Reviews are love!**


	2. Ruby Red

**Summary: **Belle finds something in the guest room on the third floor. "Rumpelstiltskin! Take them off!" "That's what she said, dearie."

Dedication:** Yup, so the continuation of this was a request from **cynicsquest**, who gave me some really good ideas. This is one of them. I hope you like it, dearie! (:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, or _The Red Shoes _by Hans Christian Anderson.**

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**_Ruby Red_**

Belle had always been a bit of a rebel when it came to fancy parties and dresses and everything a proper princess should be, but that didn't mean she shirked her responsibilities. She'd put them off sometimes, sure, but she'd always find her way back to them… eventually.

She'd been at the Dark Castle for over a month and half. She'd cleaned the kitchens until they shined, swept the ballroom until the floors practically glowed, and dusted Rumpelstiltskin's collection nearly a thousand times over. She'd been through every room in the house.

Every room, except one of the guest bedrooms on the third floor, anyway. Down the hall, third to the right. It was a nightmare. She'd come across it her second day at the castle, when she was still taking a small tour of the place. She'd opened the door and nearly caused an avalanche with the teetering piles of books and knickknacks and other useless paraphernalia.

_I'll do it when I'm done with the kitchens, _she'd promised herself, walking away with a knot of dread forming in her stomach. _When I'm done with the kitchens _eventually turned into _when I'm done with the ballroom, attic, dungeons, Rumpelstiltskin's bedroom, the main hall, the entryway hall, his laboratory, all the other rooms…_

And now, here she was, finally making good on her internal promises.

She took a deep breath and yanked the door open. The mountain of objects hadn't moved. It looked almost as though it were daring her to take it on.

_Here goes nothing._

And with that, Belle plunged into the room full of trinkets and baubles. Books fell from precarious perches as she weaved her way through the mess, and more than once did she trip over one music box or another. It was chaos, pure and simple. It would take days to get everything squared away and sorted out—

"Oomph!" Belle grunted as she tripped over a small wooden box standing in her way. She cursed softly at her clumsiness, narrowing her eyes at the thing standing in her way. It was dusty and rotting, very cheap-looking and falling apart here and there.

A small smile formed on Belle's face. Surely Rumpelstiltskin had better judgment than that. He wouldn't make just _any _deal for an old box. Unless, of course that old box contained something valuable. Belle felt herself reaching forward, aching to know what was inside—

And then she snatched her hand back and shook her head. No. She'd learned her lesson with that damnable amulet—and she wasn't so gullible as to fall for the same trap twice. It had to be dangerous; why would it be locked away and not just lying out in the open if it wasn't?

_But then why would Rumpelstiltskin keep it out of it was so dangerous? _Her mind cooed reasonably, and Belle felt her curiosity begin to burn.

_Just a peek, _she promised herself, reaching slowly for the box. _Just a peek to sate my curiosity, and then it's back to work. _Her fingers hooked under the lid and she lifted the top off with baited breath. Inside was a pair of… shoes?

Belle blinked.

Little red slippers the color of rubies. She picked one up and weighed it in her hand. It didn't look so dangerous. As a matter of fact, they were gorgeous, shining every which way in the dim lighting, the heel coming up about three inches off the ground. They reminded her of her mother's old dance shoes.

Belle turned them over in her hands.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin was having a good day. No threat had been made on his life, quite a few deals had been struck, and he'd even managed to come away with a pretty bejeweled fencing sword from a pirate queen. Yes, a good day indeed.

The doors to the Dark Castle swung open as he waltzed inside, surprised when he found the Main Hall empty. Belle was usually dusting his primary collection right about now, or flipping through his countless books. Perhaps she was in the library. Yes, he thought, easing his mind a bit. She's in the library. It was like her second bedroom, that place. Why wouldn't she—

_Crash._

"Oh my!"

The imp's head shot up as something—or rather, some_one_—came crashing down the staircase. It was Belle, her feet tangled in a ridiculous dance, sashaying her way down the stone steps. "I—can't—stop!" She panted, her feet twisting and turning in time with inaudible music.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't help it—his signature giggle ripped from his lips and Belle's eyes shot up to glare at him.

"Don't laugh! Get them off!" The shoes nearly caused her to dip into a splits, and she caught herself at the last second by latching onto a dining room chair. "Rumpelstiltskin! Take them _off_!"

"That's what she said, dearie," the imp twittered. It was getting extremely difficult to control his laughter. "So I see you found the Red Shoes. I really thought you would've learned," he chuckled and shook his head, taking a few steps over, just managing to narrowly avoid her swinging limbs, "Curiosity killed the cat."

"Yes, well," Belle huffed, blowing a sweaty curl out of her eyes, "The cat will kill _you _if you don't fix this!"

Rumpelstiltskin giggled again. He probably should have been angry, or at the very least a bit more authoritative with the tone she used—let her know who was the master and who was the servant around here, you know. But the sight of her being forced to do the salsa was almost too much.

He'd procured the shoes from an executioner high up north, a peasant man with a dying wife who wanted a cure for whatever ailment had plagued her. He'd supplied the potion to save her life—in exchange for enchanted ruby slippers, slippers once worn by a vain little girl named Karen. Rumor was she'd danced and danced until she couldn't take it anymore, and the executioner's great grandfather had chopped her feet off out of pity. It was a horrific story, but apparently the only way to get the shoes off.

Rumpelstiltskin frowned—well, this simply wouldn't do. One just couldn't have a footless caretaker.

"Dearie, dearie, dearie," he chided, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. He snapped his fingers and sent a shot of magic her way, freezing her movements completely. She stood, still as a statue, midstep in some ridiculous rendition of the mamba, hands in the air, hips frozen in a sultry sway, one foot stuck high in the air.

The ruby slippers glinted.

"If only poor little Karen had called my name instead," he muttered with an eye-roll, as he grabbed one shoe and chucked it into the far corner of the room. He did the same with its partner. Another snap of his fingers, and Belle was animated again.

"What—" she paused, stumbling a bit at being able to move once again, her eyes widening. "What was that?"

Rumpelstiltskin smirked, walking back to retrieve the shoes. His eyes glinted in the dim lighting.

"Remember what I said, dearie. Curiosity killed the cat."

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**A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review! Oh, and if you have any requests, feel free to ask! (: Also, the genre of the story changed from humor/friendship to romance, because quite frankly I have no idea what to classify this as, and it's always good to go with the default, and plus, there'll be plenty of fluff, and I have things a bit… less humorous planned.**


	3. Holding Out for a Hero

**Summary: **Emma finds a file Graham had left behind at the Sheriff's Station; a file on a case he'd been working the year before his death. A case about the hidden wing under the hospital basement, and a certain girl locked away there.

**This is a sort of semi-reunion Rumbelle oneshot, taking place sometime after _Skin Deep_. I'm kind of straying from the original theme of _Belle gets curious in the Dark Castle_, but this sticks with the initial theme of _finding something_. Emma finds beauty for the beast. Or, somewhat.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time.**

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**_Holding Out for a Hero_**

It had been over a month and a half since Graham's death, and if Emma had known being sheriff meant this much work, maybe she wouldn't have fought so hard for the job.

There was paperwork—lots and lots of paperwork, files and unsolved cases he had left behind. Plenty of things he hadn't thought to tell her about. Cases she didn't even know were open, much less in-progress. The blond sighed and picked up a stack of files, rifling through them, trying to sort. Most of them were pretty petty.

_Break in on third, teenage shoplifters, bar fights, hospital scandal…_

Emma stopped.

Hospital scandal?

_That didn't sound so petty, _she thought as she flipped open the manila folder. A newspaper clipping caught her attention first, taken from _The Daily Mirror_, something about hospital patients hearing strange noises in the middle of the night, coming from "below them". Apparently, hospital personnel had checked the basement multiple times, only to come up empty.

And then there were files, files on people who were supposedly dead, pictures and paragraphs detailing people with names like Alicia Kingsley and Peter Young. One name stood out from the rest, though, circled in bright red marker. The name was Gabriella French, twenty-six years old, certifiably insane. Committed suicide by jumping off the clock tower two years ago, is what the newspaper said.

Apparently, Graham had thought differently. Emma stared down at his handwriting, the handwriting she'd come to know so well, gracing an index card that was paper clipped to Gabriella's picture. She was quite pretty, Emma thought absently, with brown hair, matted and dull yet still beautiful, coming down her shoulders in soft waves. Her eyes were blue, but sunken in and downcast, as if she'd rather be anywhere else than looking into a camera. Considering it was the picture taken when she was admitted into the psychiatric ward, Emma couldn't blame her.

The notes Graham had left were barely legible in his faded-pencil chicken scratch, but she could make out a few words; words like _has hallucinations_ and _Emergency contact: Mr. Gold_.

Mr. Gold.

_Mr. Gold?_

Gabriella French. That must've been Moe French's daughter—Emma had overheard Ruby and Ashley talking about it after Gold's initial arrest. Apparently, Gabriella had been Gold's assistant at a shop before her episodes began. And once they did, she'd been admitted to the hospital promptly. A few weeks after her admittance, she'd managed to escape and throw herself off the clock tower, in the dead of night, with nobody watching. The body had been removed by morning, so the report said, so no one saw the incident. No one—except the _mayor_, who'd just so happened to be driving by early the next morning on her way to the Town Hall.

Red warning lights immediately shot up in Emma's head.

She skimmed through the rest of the file, eyes darting around, looking for anything incriminating she could use against Regina. She couldn't find anything, but Graham had, and he'd written it all down for her. Proof of an underground level of the hospital, an unofficial extension of the psychiatric unit, one that wasn't on the hospital blueprints. Speculation on whether or not these so-called "dead" people were being housed there. He hadn't gotten much, it seemed, but it was enough to start an investigation, Emma was sure.

But first…

Emma picked up the phone. It was late, a quarter past midnight, but she was sure he was still up. Gold seemed like the night-owl type, anyway. She waited three rings until he picked up, his Scottish brogue rough with exhaustion as he said a greeting, coupled with a yawn. Okay, maybe he hadn't been up. "Yes, hello?"

"Gold," Emma greeted absently, her gaze still focused on Gabriella's picture. She didn't trust Gold, not one bit, but something inside her was telling her to do this. Something that sounded annoyingly like Henry. To call him, to tell him. _To give him maybe-false-hope. _The intent wasn't malicious, though. It was meant to be cathartic. The blond bit her lip, and decided the best way to go with this was to do what she always did—plow right through with the god-honest truth.

"I think she's alive."

It was quiet for a long while on the other end of the phone. And then, "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Miss Swan." His voice was quiet, as if daring to be hopeful. He knew _exactly _what she was talking about.

"You know. _She_. Gabriella."

Another pause. "Gabriella?" he croaked, disbelieving, and then more silence. She heard him clear his throat. "How?"

"A file. I found a file. This is a maybe. Nothing for sure. I'm opening an investigation." And not just because I want to take Regina down, she thought as she listened to the beastly pawnbroker's shallow breathing, as she looked into the haunted blue eyes of Gabriella French. Because it was the right thing to do, and if Graham was right, and half the people locked in this place _weren't _certifiably crazy, then they had a court case on their hands.

Gold's voice snapped her out of it. "Thank you," he said, his voice back to normal, level and sturdy and neutral, but even over the phone Emma could sense his gratitude. Gabriella must've really meant a lot to him.

The blond blinked. A dial tone met her ears.

He'd hung up.

* * *

Gold stared at the phone in his hands, trembling, whether with fury or happiness or sorrow or hope (damned, _damned _hope) he didn't know.

He hadn't known who Emma had been talking about at first, but as soon as the name _Gabriella _had left her lips, he knew. The false memories came tumbling back, memories of a blue-eyed Gabriella—_Gabbe, she liked to be called_—as she dusted his wares in the afternoon, making idle chitchat as he counted money. It was a peaceful existence, not unlike their time in the Dark Castle.

He could remember days she'd bring him lunch, declaring that he _cared more about the damn shop than his own well-being and he'd only be a rich sack of bones if she hadn't come along_. He could remember her getting sidetracked with the dusting or the inventory, tinkering with one object or another, making the two wooden puppets in the middle of his shop have little conversations when she thought he wasn't looking or listening. He could remember the day she'd had an episode in the back room of his shop, screaming and crying, collapsing to the ground. He'd held her until she'd snapped out of it, brushed her hair back, told her she was okay.

She'd made him promise not to tell anybody.

And he hadn't, but someone was bound to notice—and oh, they had. He could remember the day her idiotic ex-boyfriend, Galen, came to break the bad news, telling him with shifting feet and downcast eyes that she'd been admitted into the hospital psychiatric ward.

He could remember reading the paper one late Sunday morning, a morning when his knee was killing him more than usual, and seeing the headline _Mental Patient Jumps Off Clock Tower_. He'd skimmed the article, praying to whatever deity might be listening that it wasn't her (_please, please, please_ _don't be her_) only to have his precious hope smashed to bits when he saw the name _Gabriella French_.

He could remember Ruby and Mary Margaret (bless their brave souls) come tentatively to his shop, asking him if he was coming to the funeral, that they'd _known how close he and Gabbe were_. They'd all been friends, Mary, Ruby, and Gabbe, and he'd often see them idling in front of his shop, too cautious of the man inside to take a step past the threshold. He'd let Gabbe go whenever he saw them, letting her off for an early lunch at Granny's. The one day they'd been brave enough to go into his store was the worst occasion of his life—he could remember making some hurried excuse, that he had too much work and couldn't make it.

He could remember the looks they shot each other, the sad smiles and the slow nods. _Okay, Mr. Gold. Whatever you say, Mr. G._

He could remember drowning himself with whatever liquor he could find that night, only to wake up with a throbbing head and a throbbing knee.

Those memories had all been false, of course, fabricated from the Queen's own sick, twisted mind, but they'd all meant the same thing. Belle was dead. His precious Belle was gone in both worlds, and he'd done nothing but seal her fate.

And now? Now, the savior come to restore the happiness, had possibly found this weary old beast's happy ending?

Gold smiled, and held onto something he hadn't bothered with in a long time—he held onto hope.

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**A/N: Yup. This was actually originally going to be a full-length Rumbelle reunion fic, but with the season 2 premier looming so close I can't help but feel it's kind of out of place. So this'll be a oneshot for now. Tell me if you want something full-length out of it—I'm sure I could do something with it, I'm just kind of wondering if I'd get a following or not. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Thanks for reading, and reviews are love!**


	4. Locked Hearts and Hand Grenades

**Summary: **How did that old saying go? When you love someone, you set them free.

**Just a little "what-if". What if Bae's clothes weren't the only things Belle found upstairs?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, or the title _Locked Hearts and Hand Grenades_.**

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**_Locked Hearts and Hand Grenades_**

"I'm not a man."

The words were so final, so complete, coming from his lips that Belle felt her heart break a little for him. Did he honestly think himself so wretched, so horrible? The rumors encasing the Dark One were by no means pleasant, of course, but he was still a man. A man who'd made mistakes—but still, certainly, a man.

She'd seen that man. Seen it when he'd caught her after she fell off the ladder—seen it when he'd saved her from the dragon incident, from the ruby shoe incident, from all the other incidents before and after that. He was a man. A real, human man, with real, human feelings. She could see it—even if he couldn't.

She'd make him believe it eventually, though, make him believe in the little spark of light hiding somewhere beyond the scaly green skin and the strange, fathomless eyes. She'd make him believe, but for now, she wouldn't press it. Something else was scratching at the back of Belle's head, and she felt herself swallow down the trepidation at asking the next question.

"So… I've had, uh, a couple of months to look around, you know. And, uh… upstairs, there's clothing. Small, as if for a child? Was it yours, or was there a son?" The words were slow and careful as she tread into unfamiliar territory. They were suspiciously close for your average master-and-maid relationship, but _friends _weren't exactly the correct word to describe them. Rumpelstiltskin didn't have friends, and even Belle had viewed herself as a loner during her time in Avonlea, preferring the company of books and a comfortable chair by the fireside as opposed to the simpering and self-absorbed misses and maids swarming her father's estate.

She didn't know how he'd react to this inquiry of his private life—of his past. She didn't know if he'd throw one of his infamous tantrums, giggle and brush it off, or worse, ignore her completely. She hated it when he ignored her. A silent Rumpelstiltskin was never a good thing.

"There was. There was a son," he finally said, shattering the uneasy silence. Belle bit back a sigh of relief as he continued, almost hesitantly. "I lost him. As I did his mother."

_As I did his mother._

The words rang in her head. She closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking down at her hands, fisted in her lap. So he was a man once. Just an ordinary man…

"I suppose you found the locket then, as well?"

Belle's breath caught in her throat. She'd avoided talking about the locket, and the crudely drawn picture inside, one of a girl—frail-looking, but still undeniably beautiful. The artist, however inexperienced, had at least managed to convey that. She met his gaze hesitantly, blue to yellow. She didn't think he'd talk about that. He wasn't usually so open, but today seemed different.

"I—I did."

He nodded once. "I see."

A silence, heavy and borderline uncomfortable, encased them. "The girl in the picture was your wife," she said softly, closing her eyes. It wasn't a question.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. He looked as if he was about to say something, but a loud knocking cut him off. He frowned, casting a sideways glare in the direction of the entrance. "I suppose I'll get that," he muttered, walking his way towards the door.

Belle watched him, her mind racing with a thousand and one thoughts.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin loved the smile that had lit up her face when he'd handed her the oaf-turned-flower. He clung to it like a dying animal might cling to the last seconds of life, gasping, grasping, desperate. His head was still whirring with their earlier conversation, trying to push the topic of it as far away as he could. But it seemed his mind would simply not obey today; instead of burying the wretched memories, they seemed to be all he could think about.

Flashes of Bae, of his first wife Freya; they clouded his thoughts. Half of his mind was focused on Belle and the questions he asked her about her life, her family, her choices—while the other half was straying, straying towards a memory of what may as well have been a past life.

Freya had been beautiful in every way, when they'd first met. An arranged marriage, a deal between his father and her father at the marketplace one late Saturday afternoon a few months after his nineteenth birthday. They were a couple that contradicted each other in every way possible—he was shy and lanky, a spinner's son; she was beautiful and confident, a woman with a mind too open for that particular period in time. The only thing they'd had in common was their poverty.

Not many couples caught in the thrall of an arranged marriage liked each other—most barely tolerated each other. They'd liked each other—maybe even loved at one point. They had that certain starstruck, teenagers-in-love-look that had their village baffled. _How could such a beauty love such a weakling?_

And oh, was she a beauty. Auburn hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin…

And really, that had been the reason he'd asked for Belle. He hadn't thought about it at the time—had barely considered the implications that came with having another living being in the Dark Castle—but he'd asked for her because she'd been the spitting image of Freya.

Freya, the woman with the bright smile and the beautiful eyes. Freya, the woman with a kind word for everything. Freya, Bae's mother—Freya, the woman who'd told him she couldn't be married to the town coward. The woman who'd run away.

If he closed his eyes, he could remember that night clearly—tears in her eyes, donned in her cloak, a hand ghosting over Bae's cradle. _"I'm sorry, Rumpelstiltskin. I can't do this anymore."_

"But you were going to tell me about your family."

Her sweet voice jarred Rumpelstiltskin back to reality. There she was, Freya's twin from another life. But physical appearance was where the similarities ended, that the Dark One knew. While both women were brave, braver than he could ever be, Belle made his heart race in a way his wife never had. She looked at him in a way no one ever had, either—not with fear, or pity, or hatred, or disgust—with honest-to-god kindness and gentleness. And she wasn't like Freya in the sense she didn't let what others said bother her—Freya had run because of the murmurs that ran through the night; Belle had gone despite the stories that were sure to follow her name.

Rumpelstiltskin liked his wife, yes. Liked her very much, maybe even began to love her at one point. But not like Belle. Oh no.

"I'll tell you what; I'll make you a deal." His voice was weighed down with the decision he was about to make, soft, almost regretful. But the beast knew he was doing the right thing.

The right thing, because believe it or not, he _loved _Belle. With all his heart, and every inch of his blackened, beastly soul.

"Go to town, and fetch me some straw. And when you return, I'll share my tale."

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. "T-town?"

He nodded.

_How did that old saying go? When you love someone, set them free._

He'd allowed Freya to go because he hadn't had a choice—he very much liked her, and decided that if leaving was going to make her happy, then he'd let her go. Nobody would blame her, and he certainly couldn't.

"You trust me to come back?"

He _loved _Belle. She was the bright flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness, guiding his way back home to whatever humanity he had left, and he'd be damned if he ever allowed himself to snuff that fire out. He was the Dark One, and for all Belle was, she should've been called the Light One. Rumpelstiltskin smiled sadly, his yellow eyes shining as he stared at his one true love.

"Oh, no. I expect I'll never see you again."

* * *

**A/N: Huh, another serious one. I have a humor-y one in the works right now, but writer's block has become my new best friend. Also, in response to the last chapter, I may just extend it. I'm seriously considering it, and have started a chapter layout, sooo… yeah (:  
Anyway, I had fun writing this, mostly because I love toying with Rumpel's past. Anyway, please review. Pretty please? With a cherry and sprinkles on top?**


	5. Movie Night

**Summary: **Post-curse. Belle finds a certain DVD while cleaning out the attic.

**I can only imagine the mischief caused if every fairy tale in Storybrooke took this lead and decided to do this.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything!**

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**_Movie Night_**

Two weeks. That's how long it had been since magic had returned. Two, glorious weeks since the curse had been broken (well, somewhat) and magic had been restored.

Two weeks since beauty and the beast had been reunited at last.

Sometimes, it amazed Belle how quickly they fell back into their old routine. She cleaned his "estate", cooked his meals, laundered his clothing, and even in Storybrooke, people had deals to broker, and Mr. Gold—oh, ahem, _Rumpelstiltskin_—was the man to go to. Granted, he'd had several threats made on his life within the past fourteen days, but it was nothing to worry about. Just mindless dribble coming from the mouth of an angry Prince Charming, and the halfhearted threats that came from an enraged Emma Swan.

Snow White and the young prince Henry had stood in the background while the two were on their respective tirades, biting back sighs and knowing eventually their two hotheaded loved ones would stop screaming and begrudgingly accept the fragile alliance they had with the Dark One. It was a precarious truce, seeing as how the majority—okay, _all_—of the town hated his very core, but they couldn't deny one thing. He wanted Regina dead just as much as the rest of them. Also, they needed his power.

It seemed the only thing keeping the entirety of Storybrooke going "village mob" on the ex-pawnbroker was A, the fact that even in this new world with it's strange magic, he was too powerful for even hoards of fairy tale characters to take on, and B, the fact that Belle acted as a sort of mediator.

While the town hated Rumpelstiltskin, everyone seemed to love Belle. Snow White and Red had made fast friends with her, recalling their fractured Storybrooke memories and deciding they should get to know her real self a little better. With that friendship came Emma Swan, who, while curious and a little suspicious at first, had become Belle's best friend.

Then there was August, who liked her odd, quirky attitude; James, who liked her because of her unwavering, brave nature; and little Henry, who claimed she was one of his favorite princesses.

Not to mention Ella, Thomas, the dwarves, most of the fairies (all except the Blue Fairy, who'd argued that anyone to love Rumpelstiltskin was either delusional, evil, or both), even most of the children, like Hansel and Gretel and the Hatter's child, Grace, had taken a shine to her.

It was a good way to get people to begin trusting her boyfriend (_boyfriend, why did that sound so funny?_) or at the very least, his motives. He would never harm Belle, and, by extension, he would never harm any of the inhabitants of Storybrooke. As long as she was on their side, so was he.

But late Sunday afternoon, the last day of their second week after the curse's breaking; Belle found her mind drifting far away from the final battle, Regina, and all the other fun, adrenaline-inducing stuff, which was odd, considering it was all anyone seemed able to think about. No, right now, she was more focused on the blue and gold case she had in her hands.

_Disney's Beauty and the Beast._

Belle felt herself begin to smile. She hadn't really learned much in the ways of modern-day technology, the knowledge of how to use them flying out the window as soon as the curse was broken, as if it was never there in the first place—and really, it wasn't. The rest of Storybrooke got along with coffee pots and cars just fine because they'd been exposed to it for twenty-eight years. It was just an everyday part of their routine, now. Belle hadn't had that luxury while in lockup.

She'd learned, though. She'd learned how to work a microwave, a stove, the television, the internet (for the most part) and even a device of Rumpel's, which he called an _iPod_. Through all this learning, she began to grow accustomed to everyday objects—one of which was a DVD.

DVDs had been the latest form of comedic relief with the war pending so close. Red and Snow in particular had had a good laugh over their respective movies—mainly _Disney's Snow White_, and for Red, _Red Riding Hood _with some woman named Amanda Seyfried. Apparently, most everyone had a movie counterpart out there in one form or another, and Belle had only seen her own in passing. She'd been interested, sure, but hadn't given it much thought until the object was in her very own hands.

The blue-eyed beauty giggled in a way not unlike Rumpelstiltskin's as she clutched the dusty case tight to her chest and rocketed down the steps to the living room where her True Love sat, sitting comfortably on the couch, curled up with one of her books.

He watched his girlfriend (God, why did it sound so _odd _to say that?) hurry over to the television and fiddle with it for a moment before grabbing the remote. The DVD she'd popped in began to play, and he groaned when he saw the title screen.

"Belle, what the hell is this?"

She barked out a laugh at the low whine he emitted, stepping back and plopping down next to him, thinking fleetingly that they could use popcorn. "Come on. This'll be fun, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, dearie."

"Snow made James and Emma do it! She wanted to see how accurate it was."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "And how did that turn out?"

Belle grinned. "Well, James was a little peeved that the Huntsman got more screen-time than the prince did."

He snorted again, but in the end, curled up beside her and set his book down. "I don't even know why I have that," he said as she grabbed the remote and pressed _play_. "But if the other movies the town rambles on about is anything to go by, then it's not going to be terribly accurate."

Belle shushed him as music began to play, a deep rumbling voice telling the back-story of the beast's curse. They watched until the movie-Belle got back home, during which the real-life version decided to break the silence.

"Alright, I see why people think this is funny now. You aren't _that _much of a jerk. And I'm not _that_ odd."

"Ahh," Rum _tsked_, tapping her nose gently, "That's where you're wrong, love. You're pretty odd."

"I'm offended."

"Don't be. At least they captured your affinity for books in the first five minutes."

"Well, okay, they weren't _completely _off, I guess. At least I'm not like, fourteen, like Snow."

"There you go!"

Silence lapsed between the two of them, until Gaston appeared and Belle burst out laughing. "Oh gods, that's so accurate!"

Rumpelstiltskin grinned. "Wow, really? Didn't think anyone could be _that _awful."

"I told you before he was superficial. This movie kind of exaggerated how much, sure, but it's not so far off. The only difference was he didn't have a sidekick named Lefou."

"Well, of course. Who would name their child _Lefou_?"

Belle shrugged and curled up deeper against his side, enjoying the uplifting tempo of the music. She giggled at the awkward, fumbling rendition of her father, smirked when she saw the talking teacup, appropriately named "Chip", and could barely suppress a chortle when she finally got a good view of the beast.

"Seems his temper's even worse than yours," she quipped lightly, and Rumpelstiltskin only shook his head.

"Hey, I like this version of myself the best, personally. He could be a snake. In one version, he—I—whatever, was a crow."

"You're kidding. How could I make out with a crow?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, dearie. Hey—there you go, off to confront yours truly, the ghastly monster man, all holed up alone in his castle."

Belle slapped his chest, giving him a little glare, not appreciating the fact he'd just called himself a ghastly monster man. He'd gotten better at the whole self-deprecation thing, but she hadn't exactly managed to break him of it completely. She kept staring at the screen, barely taking anything in, until the point came where Belle was making a deal with the beast, to free her father in exchange for her.

"That's… not entirely _in_accurate," she said slowly, arching a manicured brow, "I mean, we did make a deal. And I guess my father was saved for it. But like I said, your temper isn't nearly as bad. But this beast is a lot more hospitable. How come you didn't give me a fancy room like that? You made me sleep in that awful dungeon for weeks until I said something," she pouted, nudging his side playfully.

Gold grinned, that lovely impish grin that reminded her so much of scales and golden eyes. "Well, this beast has you as his guest. I had you as my servant. There _was _a difference."

"Shh," Belle hushed, smacking his chest firmly when the scene changed, and they were looking at a tavern where a moody Gaston was trying to be cheered up by his sidekick, Lefou. It was all very calm… until Lefou broke out into song. Then Belle burst out laughing, clutching her boyfriend's jacket for dear life as she howled, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

Gold himself was trying very hard not to burst out into impish giggles. He imagined Gaston the last time he'd seen him; huge, burly, a baseball bat in one hand and threatening to break down Gold's door if he didn't "release his lovely Belle from her imprisonment". It had taken Belle coming out herself, hands on her hips, dressed only in one of Gold's best cotton dress shirts and nothing else, telling him she was not "some helpless little damsel in need of rescuing" before promptly turning on her heel and slamming the door shut in his stunned face. It was a moment the former imp never wanted to forget, the mental snapshot of the brute's dumbfounded look forever engraved in his mind.

They continued watching in companionable silence, and it was only until after the credits rolled did they speak again.

"If only our happy ending was really that easy," Belle murmured against her beloved's chest, giving him a quick peck to the lips before nestling into his side. They both knew that eventually, his magic would be fully restored, and he'd be the Dark One through and through, and when he was, they wouldn't be able to have this… this _closeness_. Even now, he could feel the magic begin to ebb and weaken with every touch of their lips.

She understood that when the time came, they couldn't kiss anymore. Not until Regina was gone for good, and Bae was back home safe. Or at the very least, _verified_ as safe. She understood that that could mean weeks, months, maybe years without kissing her true love.

It didn't matter, though, they both knew that much. Because a happy ending was in their future, whether they knew it or not. And while it wouldn't necessarily be _easy _to come by, it wasn't impossible, either. It lay just beyond the horizon, and both Beauty and Beast would move heaven and earth to make sure they got there.

* * *

**Hmmm… yeah. Sorry if this seems rushed, I got a little sidetracked, and then I didn't want to make this unbearably long by describing the whole movie, so I cut it off quick. I hope you guys like it anyway.**

**ALSO, I will not be continuing _Holding Out for a Hero_. I'll probably be doing one-shots surrounding the facets of their fabricated Storybrooke lives, and maybe touch on it a little here, but I won't be diving into a full-length story. So, look for a new series of one-shots (they won't be included here, because I have a running theme with these and I don't want to stray from that) so look for it!**

**Reviews are love!**


	6. Little Lion Man

**Summary: **On her walk, Belle finds something very precious of Rumpelstiltskin's.

**Written in honor of the season premier, one full week later lol. Who else kinda sorta wanted to slap Rumpel for making Belle cry? We all knew he wasn't going to sit back and let Regina get away with what he did, but c'mon Rum, was the "In the hour you've known me" really necessary?**

**DISLCAIMER: I don't own anything!**

* * *

_But it was not your fault but mine; and it was your heart on the line. I really fucked it up this time, didn't I, my dear? _

**[_Little Lion Man _by Mumford and Sons]**

**Little Lion Man**

She was brave once.

She was rebellious and happy and free and she had enough courage for a whole string of villages to thrive on. She was even brave enough to put a smile on her face when she got engaged to Gaston. And then the beast came and whisked her away to a land of no return. She fell in love, and the courage fell away, replaced by fantasies of happily ever after.

Belle was brave once.

* * *

He was brave once.

He was young and carefree and he had a father that loved him. He was brave enough not to cry when his mother abandoned him, even when he was just a babe. He was brave in the face of a war where he'd surely be killed. And then his father saved him, became a monster because of it. And all that bravery flew away, replaced by the fear of a boy who'd lost the only parent he'd ever known.

Bae was brave once.

* * *

Belle heard nothing except his faint "I'm sorry!" as she slammed the pawnshop door behind her. Tears were clouding her vision.

_Oh, what, in the hour you've known me?_

It hurt, hearing him say that. He was right, in a way, of course—she had no idea who he was in this world, blind to what he might have gone through in her absence. It wasn't even really the fact he'd _said _it that sent her over the edge—it was the fact he'd broken his promise.

_Don't give into your hate. Don't kill her._

She wanted the blasted bitch dead; of course she did. Belle had spent twenty-eight years in lockup; she was feeling bitter and pissed and she wanted the evil soul gone as much as the next Storybrooke resident.

But she didn't want him giving in to the darkness inside of him; he was better than that. She _knew _that somewhere inside, he was better than that. Regina would die eventually, either by the hands of an angry mob or by the savior, the Charming girl, herself. Maybe Snow White would do it. Maybe Prince James would. Either way, Regina would die. There was no pulling past that. He didn't _need _to give into the darkness, to be the one to do the deed.

He could've just sat back and let karma and destiny to the rest.

Belle could feel her fury begin to dissipate, and her angry stride slowed to a walk. She closed her eyes. Her head was pounding, and she supposed that was her cue to go back and try and patch things up. He did what he did because he loved her. His intentions were good, though his methods were questionable, and she supposed she couldn't stay mad at him for that.

She turned to go, back in the direction of the pawnshop, when a chilly gust blew through the town. Every muscle in Belle's body stiffened, and she silently prayed that whatever that just was, it wasn't the ghastly whatever Rum had summoned. The thing had shot a tremor through the town, and she could only imagine what would happen if she was caught in the crossfire.

She was ready to break out into a run at the nearest sign of trouble. A doe, ready to bolt at the call of a hungry wolf. She took a hesitant step backwards.

"Who's there?"

Almost as soon as the last word was out, a portal opened up about ten feet above her. It was a glowing green; an odd, magical color. Belle's eyes widened when she heard a yell, and then a shout of "Papa!" A dark, heavy blob fell from the portal—and collided straight with Belle.

"_Oomph_," she grunted, falling to the ground, the strange bundle in her arms. It groaned in pain, and it was then Belle realized it wasn't just any old bundle—it was a _boy_. He couldn't have been older than fourteen, with shaggy brown hair and—_peasant's clothes_? The former princess blinked—_how odd_.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyes wide as saucers.

The boy, who'd had his eyes clenched shut, snapped up to look at her. Brown eyes, Belle noted. They looked scared.

"W-where am I?" the boy murmured, looking around wildly. "Papa?" He sat up, scrambling off the confused young lady, whirling around again. "Papa!" He turned back to her. "Where am I?" he asked again. And then, noticing she was still on the ground, he blushed and bent down to help her up. "Sorry."

_Okay, for everything that's just gone on, this definitely tops my list of Weird Things That Have Happened to Me Today. _"It's fine," she replied, offering the warmest smile she could muster. "The town is called Storybrooke, or so I'm told. My name's Belle. Who're you?" she tried to be as friendly as possible, pushing away the nagging feeling that she'd seen those eyes before. They looked so familiar.

"Baelfire," the boy replied softly, giving her a small, polite smile. And then he was turning again, assessing the town with worried eyes. "Did a man come with me? He's a little taller than I am, with brown hair—" he was looking pleadingly at her, as if begging her to say yes.

Belle blinked. "No, no. I'm sorry, honey. You were the only one I saw."

Baelfire's eyes seemed to darken to such a degree Belle nearly flinched. It reminded her too much of Rumpelstiltskin when he was angry. "So he didn't come," the teenager growled. His voice hitched with frustrated tears as he folded his arms and kicked at the gravel. "That man was my father. He broke our deal!"

Belle bit her lip and rushed forward, grabbing the boy's shoulder so he'd turn to face her. "Hey—hey. Don't get so mad. Maybe I can help you."

"You can't get my papa back," Baelfire said, that note of bitterness still ringing clear. "No one can. He broke our deal—he's a coward."

_He's hurt, not mad, _Belle noted as she assessed the teenage boy in front of her. Emotions were her strong point—her handmaid always used to quip that she could read people just as well as she could read books. She recognized this type of fury before, many times in Rumpelstiltskin. He'd lash out when he was hurt or afraid, and this boy didn't seem so different.

"Well, that's true. I can't get him back, considering the way you came." She eyed the sky warily, as if another wormhole would appear out of nowhere and the boy's father would be spit up. "But what I can do is take you back to this little shop I know. The man who owns it, he—" she paused, not really knowing what she could consider him yet. Boyfriend, friend, lover, True Love? Too many names. She shook her head. "Well, he's a friend. And he's powerful. Maybe he'll be able to help you."

Rum had said, countless times, that magic here was different. She didn't know if he'd be able to help find this boy's father, but it was worth a shot.

* * *

The creak of the wheel was soothing, both in this world and the last.

Rumpelstiltskin had avoided spinning during his time as Mr. Gold. Instead of allowing him the comfort of forgetting, it forced him to remember, every time he looked at the damnable thing sitting in the back of his shop.

_Why do you spin so much?_

After regaining his memories, the innocent question would plague him every time he set his eyes on the wheel, deepening the hole in his heart until eventually, he couldn't take it anymore and had thrown a sheet over the memory-plagued device. He hadn't looked twice at it until now, until he'd brought magic back. Until he'd condemned the queen to a fate worse than death.

Until he'd opened his big, stupid mouth and lost Belle—again. He should've known she was too smart, too bold, too independent to let him get away with twisting her words around like that. She was probably never coming back now.

He continued spinning, barely acknowledging the tinkling of the bell in the other room. It was probably Emma, getting ready to begin another round of—

"You wait here, okay? I'll be right out. Let me find my friend. His name is Mr. Gold—"

Rumpelstiltskin shot up, his eyes wide at the sound of the voice. Belle. His beautiful, wonderful Belle, come back to him? Hope flared in his chest, until he remembered she was talking to someone. She wasn't alone. He stayed at the wheel, feigning nonchalance, until someone brushed back the curtains in the corner.

"Hi."

"Hey." He stopped spinning to acknowledge her, turning around to face her fully.

Whatever she seemed to be getting ready to say died on her lips. "I, uh, went for a long walk," she stuttered instead, eyes floating downwards.

"I thought you didn't want to see me."

She looked thoughtful for a second. "I didn't. But I was worried." She bit her lip, pivoting on her heel to face the racks of clothes hanging a few feet away. She picked out a plain black t-shirt, and began to rummage in the boxes beside the rack for a pair of pants. "Also, I found someone. Who could use help. He's just lost his father—and—well—I couldn't exactly leave him out there."

Rum eyed her for a moment before smiling weakly. That was his Belle, always thinking of others. At the mention of a boy losing a father, his heart clenched with a familiar old pain, and it was in that moment he knew he'd do the same thing.

"Who's the boy?"

Belle shrugged, pulling a pair of medium-sized navy blue sweatpants out of the box at her feet. "His name is Balefire," she said, before whirling around, back to the front of the store.

_Baelfire. _The name pounded in Rumpelstiltskin's head like a mantra, and he felt that familiar surge of hope envelope him. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. Bae—he'd arrived _years _ago. In this land without magic. That's what he wished for, right?

Unless, Rum thought breathlessly, he _needed _the magic to arrive. The portal wouldn't have been able to open without a pulse of pure magic on this side of the connection—just a little. That was all he would've needed. Bae had been suspended in a world between worlds for god only knew how long, waiting. Just waiting.

"These clothes are really soft," he heard a young boy's voice say from the other room. "You must be very rich."

Belle's soft, tinkering laugh. "Oh, no. Not rich. That's just—the way this world works, I suppose."

Rum was up as fast as his aching leg could allow, and he nearly stumbled as he made his way out of the back room. The coward inside of him was screaming at him to stay, to escape out the back door, to turn the other way and not have to face the eyes of the son he'd so long ago abandoned, but in the end the selfish soul of a desperate father won out.

This was his _son_. He nearly ran into Belle on his way out, ignoring her hiss of "Wait, he's changing!" and plowing right to the front of the shop.

"Bae," he croaked when he saw the boy on the opposite end of the room. He'd just changed into the black t-shirt, looking ridiculous with the old-world trousers still adorning his thin hips. The Dark One was at a loss for words as he looked at the son he thought he'd lost so long ago.

His _son_.

His _family_.

"Papa," the boy choked, eyes wide as he regarded the man across the room. He looked different, Bae noted absently. It was a good different. He looked human again. He looked like his father again, other than the odd clothes he wore. But despite the fancy fabric, he was his father, through and through. "Papa," he said again, before rushing forward and colliding with the man.

Rum laughed, ignoring the sharp-shooting pain in his leg. "Bae. _Bae_."

"I thought you didn't come through the portal," Bae sniffed, burying his head in his father's stomach, ignoring the fact he was crying. This was his papa—his _papa_, flesh and blood and human and alive, and best of all, _here_.

"I didn't," Rumpelstiltskin confessed softly. "I didn't. I was too much of a coward, Bae. But I spent every day since trying to find a way back to you—and I finally did. I finally did, son. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"At least you're here now," Bae said after a short silence. Sure, he was a little angry that his father hadn't come through the portal in the first place, but the fact he was here _now _was good enough for him. He laughed and held on tighter, opening his eyes only to catch sight of the surprised brunette in the corner.

Belle's eyes were wide as she regarded the scene before her. The boy—the boy she'd found was Rumpelstiltskin's _son_? And what was this about a portal? She shook her head and decided it didn't matter. This was their moment. She turned on her heel to retreat into the back room, but the click of her heel seemed to jar Rumpelstiltskin from his euphoric trance.

"Belle, come here," he said softly, beckoning her with his left hand, while his right rested on the top of his son's head. Belle eyed him for a moment, not wanting to intrude on such an intimate family reunion, but the look in his eyes said all that was needed to be said. She smiled and took a few steps forward, allowing him to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you," Bae said, ever the polite young boy, removing himself from his father's tight grasp to embrace the woman who helped reunite them. "Thank you so much Belle!"

She laughed and ruffled his hair. It was a reflexive movement, and to Belle, it felt like she'd been doing it her entire life. Rum looked at the pair with a grin on his face and he knew that Belle would make a fantastic stepmother—just as he always knew she would.

"You're very welcome, Baelfire," she murmured, returning the boy's affectionate embrace.

"So my father was the friend you were referring to?" the teenager inquired, looking from his father to the young woman next to him.

Belle chuckled, and looked to her beloved. Rumpelstiltskin smiled knowingly, and waved a hand as if to say, _you can explain_. She looked back down at the boy. He wasn't a child; that much she was aware of, so surely he had to know something about True Love—especially considering where he'd grown up.

"Baelfire. When you were back in the Enchanted Forest—well, you've heard the tales of True Love, haven't you?"

He nodded vigorously. Of course he had. What child _hadn't _heard the fantastic tales of good triumphing over evil with something as magical as a kiss?

"Well…" she trailed away, unsure of how to continue. Belle loved Rumpelstiltskin, and she already adored his son. But unease was settling on her now, unease and a ton of questions; he'd _just_ reunited with his father, would he really want to accept another family member? _Especially _a mother? From what she'd managed to pry from Rumpelstiltskin, his first wife hadn't been a woman who liked the idea of a quaint family life. Who knew how Bae would feel to her addition to the fold?

"You're his True Love, aren't you?" Bae asked knowingly. At the look of surprise Belle and Rumpelstiltskin shared, he snorted. "I'm fourteen, not four. I may be young, but don't think I don't know love when I see it."

Belle outwardly laughed at his blunt response, hope daring to rise in her chest. "So, I take it you're okay with it—this—_us_?"

Baelfire nodded enthusiastically. "If you make Papa happy—that's good enough for me." He went back to hug her again, and Belle squeezed him tight.

Rum was the one who spoke up first. "Bae, why don't you go finish changing in the other room? Then we can all catch up, and I can explain what happened," his voice was gentle and still a little awed as he gazed down at his son with such raw love and conviction it made Belle's heart hurt.

The boy nodded eagerly, clutched the sweatpants close to his chest and scurried away to finish changing. Belle watched him go, admiring the bright innocence that seemed to radiate off the child.

Rumpelstiltskin's voice broke her reverie. "So," he said conversationally, slipping an arm around her shoulders, "If I heard that correctly, you said _us_. As in you and me. Does that mean you forgive me? You're staying?"

"Of course I'm staying," she scoffed, grinning at him broadly. "I'm your True Love, remember? I have to stay." She winked. "But I never said anything about forgiving you for twisting my words around. I'm still mad about that."

Rumpelstiltskin laughed. "As well you should be." It didn't matter. They'd get over it—especially after he let her know the beast was already gone, and the evil soul was still alive and breathing. His plan to avenge her injustice had failed, but it didn't matter.

All that mattered was that they were all here—together. The war wasn't over yet, not by a long shot, and there wasn't any doubt in his mind that Regina would try and use _both _Belle and Bae to her advantage. Rum would protect them both with his life, though.

Nothing would rip his newfound family apart.

Not if the Dark One had anything to say about it.

* * *

**A/N: Yup, so here. I'd love it if when Bae appeared, he was still fourteen. Or even just a few years older. Maybe he's Peter Pan. I don't know about you guys, but I don't like the theory that he's Henry's father. Mostly because Emma made him sound like such a douche, and I don't want to think that Bae turned all bitter and mean and angry because Rum broke their deal. I loved him when he was in "Desperate Souls" and "The Return" and I really don't want him to be a villain or anything because A) I'm not sure if Rumpel could handle any more heartache, and B) he was so sweet and cute and likable! So yeah, there's my two cents. Hope you like it!**

**Reviews are love!**


	7. This is My House, This is My Home

**Summary: **Belle and Bae stumble across a conversation they probably shouldn't have.

**Thank you all so much for taking the time to review! They're all lovely and I'm so glad to hear your guys' opinion on my story; especially the last chapter! (: thanks so much!**

**Written in preparation for the upcoming season 2 episode _The Crocodile, _where Rumpel's wife supposedly appears. I know, earlier I said her name was Freya in my universe, but it is now officially changing to the canon Milah. Sort of a sequel to _Little Lion Man_.**

**Also, I know Rum is supposed to be like centuries old. But for the sake of the story, let's just say "Desperate Souls", "Skin Deep", and "The Return" all happened a few years apart. Because I would actually really like to see something like this in canon—I mean, surely Belle and Rumple are going to discuss their pasts, including past _flames_ and Bae's story.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything!**

* * *

_Just close your eyes; the sun is going down. You'll be alright… no one can hurt you now. Come morning light; you and I'll be safe and sound._

**[Taylor Swift, _Safe and Sound_]**

**_This is My House, This is My Home_**

"Belle, what's that noise?" Bae hissed, coming out of his room, a baseball bat clutched in one hand.

Belle resisted the urge to burst out laughing. Ever since she and Bae had come to live with Rumpelstiltskin, nights had been restless and a bit uncomfortable. This wasn't uncommon in the Gold household, apparently. The house was old and creaky, and the strange noises that echoed in the middle of the night had a way of setting the boy's teeth on edge.

Now he was here, standing in the doorway to her own bedroom (Rum had _insisted_, much to her chagrin) looking positively fearless as he surveyed the room for any damage.

Belle herself was sitting in her bed, a book propped up on her knees. "I didn't hear anything, Bae. Go back to sleep. It's probably just the house again."

"The house," Bae repeated, still looking wary as he set the bat down. "Sure. Of course. The house."

The beauty sighed—if he was having problems _now_, she could only wait and see what he'd do when they got back to the Dark Castle. The place was awful when it got windy—a breeze and a whisper would always sweep through the main hall and leave her jittery, which wasn't a good thing when you were Rumpelstiltskin's caretaker. The man used to love startling her half out of her wits.

A _slam _from downstairs, accompanied by a yell of what Belle thought was indignation, jarred her out of her stupor. She stared questioningly at the floorboards, as if they could give her answers.

She heard Bae snicker. "Are you sure it's still the house, Belle?"

"Shut up," Belle said teasingly, standing up too quickly and nearly tripping over her overlarge flannel pajama pants. She shuffled over to him, her bones begging her to crawl back into bed, before wrapping an arm around her sort-of-stepson's shoulders.

Belle wasn't really sure what to make of her relationship with the Gold's, just yet. She and Bae were on the road to a good relationship. He was plastered to her side most of the day, hell-bent on getting to know her. _What's your favorite color? Favorite food? How did you and Papa meet?_

It could be exhausting, to say the least, but she wasn't unhappy with his clinginess. As a matter of fact, she enjoyed it. It let her know she was welcome in his life. The past three weeks since Bae had moved in, Belle had felt—clearly, and for the first time in her life—_afraid_. She'd felt as though she could never measure up to the mother he thought he knew. Baelfire had grown up thinking his birthmother was some wonderful woman, sweet and gentle and caring, when in reality she was just a woman who was bored with her provincial life.

She'd managed to pry the whole, unedited, unabridged story out of Rumpelstiltskin the night she'd found him, when Bae was fast asleep in his new bedroom. The woman's name had been Milah, and in a way, she had not been unlike Belle. Bored, longing for adventure, something away from the throes of marriage and duties. But Milah had left her family—Belle wouldn't. Couldn't. Who would even _think _of leaving such a wonderful man and such a bright young boy?

But despite that ever-present nagging that she could never be a good enough mother, she still had Rum. Well, somewhat, anyway. Ever since the night at the pawnshop, the night she'd brought back Bae, they'd been at a standstill. She loved him, of course. And he loved her. They kissed. They said the words every day. But he was keeping his distance, and to Belle it seemed as though he thought that if he hugged her too tight or kissed her too rough she'd fall apart in his arms. Sometimes she wanted to scream, but most of the time she told herself he just needed his space for a little while.

Just a little while longer, she promised herself. She'd made that promise every night and lately she'd been wondering when a _little while _would be over with already so they could sleep in the same bed.

"I hear voices," Bae whispered. Belle tuned her ears to listen, and sure enough, there was Rum's voice, rising above the creak of the house and the howling of the Maine wind outside.

"What are you even doing here, Milah?" he sounded angry—angry and extremely tired. Belle and Bae stopped just short of the doorway that led from the living room to the entryway, listening closely to the conversation.

A woman's voice replied, soft and tinged with an accent, a little impatient. "I want us to be a family again. I want to see Baelfire. Let me see my son." the woman named Milah said, and Belle's chest tightened. Oh.

_Oh._

This woman—this woman was Bae's _mother_. Something heavy settled on her shoulders and she sucked in a sharp, quiet breath before sneaking a peek down at Bae to gauge his reaction. The boy looked shocked, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. Was he angry? Happy? Upset? What?

Belle had always been extraordinarily bold and brave, even bordering on reckless at points, but when it came to Bae it seemed as if all that courage faded away, which was really ridiculously strange. She could handle being Rumpelstiltskin's True Love but when it came to his son she became a bundle of blue-eyed awkwardness. What was wrong with the world?

She didn't know how to be a mother, much less a good stepmother. Bae had taken to her quickly enough, sure, but Belle was always on her toes, always waiting to screw up beyond repair and lose both Rum and the boy she'd come to love as her own. Maybe she did know how Rum felt. Undeserving. Awkward and fumbling and unfit. Wondering just _how _she got so lucky.

But, Belle told herself, however unfit she may have been, Milah was worse. Rumpelstiltskin had loved his wife once upon a time, he'd told her so himself, but it had been a silly, childish romance that had left him floundering after what he called "the pirate incident". He'd never elaborated past that, but Belle knew. Knew by the look in his eyes that whatever this incident was, it had torn a little piece of his soul out.

Rum had told her, under the cover of night and the low, mumbling television in the family room, that Milah hadn't wanted kids. Or a husband. But in that day and age, in that world… well, what else could a woman do, other than marry well and reproduce? She couldn't get a job. She couldn't own land. At least, not without prestige or a good family backing her or a ring on her finger and a man who did all the talking.

So she had married, albeit begrudgingly. She'd borne a beautiful baby boy. And she'd left them. The two people that meant more to Belle than life itself, and she'd _left _them.

The beauty felt her blood boil in her veins, but she kept her temper in check. This wasn't her battle; this was Rum's. She could confront him about it later.

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Milah," Rum said, sounding like he was done with this conversation. She could picture him in her mind's eye, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes tight, like he always did when he was exhausted.

"I don't care. I want to see my son."

A bang. He'd slammed his cane to the floor, the sound reverberating like the crack of a whip through the house. Bae jolted back at the noise, and Belle cringed. "He's not your son any more. I told you that. Milah, you're drunk. Go _home_. I don't want anything to do with you."

"He's my son," Milah insisted, and Belle noticed the slur in her voice. Oh, gods. That wasn't good. "He's my son, and I demand to see him, Rumpelstiltskin!"

"Milah, he's _asleep_, and you're going to wake him up."

"I'll wake him up, then! I'll wake him up and I'll take him away. Living with the Dark One…" she scoffed, changing tactics. "This is no way to raise a child, Rumpelstiltskin! Forget it; he doesn't need you, and neither do I! Where is he? I want my son—"

And then, suddenly, the woman's shouting stopped, and it was Rum's low, dangerous voice that spoke next. The tone shot shivers down Belle's spine, thanking the gods above that she wasn't the girl in the other room right now. "Go _home_, Milah. You walked away. Do me a favor, and stay away."

No words were said after that. Belle heard the shuffling of feet in the other room, and then the front door slam shut. The click of the lock. Then Rumpelstiltskin's voice, calm and tired. "You two can come out now."

Bae pushed the door open and barreled into his father. The Dark One smiled faintly and held his son tightly to his chest; he was looking a lot less formidable than usual, dressed in a white t-shirt and red flannel pajama pants. His eyes were hazy, and he looked drawn and a thousand years older.

"How'd you know we were listening?" Belle asked, watching the scene from the doorway. Rumpelstiltskin always assured her she was by no means intruding on anything by getting close to him and Bae when they spent time together, but lingering back had become more of a habit than anything else.

His dark chocolate eyes, flecked with his Storybrooke namesake, lifted to meet hers. His smile widened. "You two weren't as quiet as you'd like to think you were. Luckily, I think Milah was too drunk to really notice."

"She's not coming back, is she?" Bae asked, looking from Belle to his father.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed. "I hope not, Bae. But your mother can be quite unpredictable."

"She's not my mother," Baelfire protested, his eyes turning a little dark. "Mamas don't leave their sons and they _don't _leave their husbands. Not for good, anyway." He looked to Belle and smiled as he said this. Both adults stared at him for a moment before he gave an impressive yawn. "I'm going back to bed. Night."

"Goodnight," Belle and Rumpelstiltskin said in unison, watching as the fourteen-year-old shuffled back up the stairs and to his bedroom.

Silence lapsed between the two for a few minutes, the only sound being the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. The toll signaling it was three o'clock broke them out of their trances. Belle found herself unable to look her True Love in the eye.

"Did he just imply what I think he implied?" she asked with a hoarse voice, suddenly finding the ceiling a very interesting place to look at.

"If you think he implied that he sees you as his mother now, then yes." Rum smiled, knowing how sheepish his Belle had become. He moved towards her, tugging her into his embrace and lifting her chin so she'd look at him. "But hey. That's not a bad thing. At least, I don't think so. You do… you do _like _Bae, don't you?" He was suddenly unsure. Bae and Belle had gotten along so well, or so it seemed. Was it possible she didn't like the boy? Was that why she was so hesitant around him, around _them_…?

"Of course I do!" she gasped, sounding utterly appalled that he'd even think otherwise.

Rum's shoulders relaxed. "Well, then, what's the problem? Don't you _want _him to see you as his mother?"

"I do," Belle replied quietly, keeping her eyes down. "I really do. I'd love that. I love him. He's a great kid; it's just…" she trailed away. Do the brave thing, and bravery would follow, right? Just admit your fears, and they'll become dust. That's what Belle believed. So why was it so hard to admit this, just this _once_?

"Just…?" Rum prodded, concerned.

"It's just…" she threw her hands up and stepped away from the safe circle of his arms. "I'm scared, alright? Yeah, you heard me! Your _brave beauty_ is terrified. Of a fourteen year old kid, no less." It felt good, she realized, to get it off her chest. To get it out in the open. She hadn't even been aware of how much the fear had been eating her until now. She'd let it fester and rot inside her for weeks, since she'd met Bae and learned the truth. She'd been hesitant, she'd given him space, and he'd done nothing but _push_, _push_, _push_ to try and get her to open up. And she'd just clammed right up.

_Oh gods, no wonder Rum thought I hated him._

Her beloved was smiling. _Smiling_, the jerk. "That doesn't sound so complicated," he murmured, stepping forward again, wrapping his arms around her. "That sounds completely understandable."

"I want to be good enough for him. For you. For both of you. I'm terrified I'm going to screw up."

"Now, _that _sounds familiar." He kissed her forehead, holding her tight to his chest. "But you don't have to worry, you know. Bae loves you. And after tonight, there isn't a doubt in my mind that he wouldn't accept you. Milah may have given birth to him, Belle, but _you're _his mother. I can see it when he looks at you."

"Thank you," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing him tight, enjoying the closeness. "She _won't _come back, will she? Milah?"

"Like I said, it's difficult to tell. Maybe not, but I think she feels entitled to Bae. So let's not count our chickens before they hatch, hmm?"

"Right," Belle muttered, snuggling closer to him. They stayed that way for a while, pressed together, the ticking of the clock in the foyer the only sound in the world. And then, finally, Rum pushed her away and gave her a small smile.

"You should probably get to bed," he said softly.

"Only if you come with me," she murmured, her tone sleepy, but leaving no room for argument. They were sleeping in the same room whether he liked it or not.

He blinked at her in shock, before his eyes went guarded and he sighed. "Belle—"

"No. Don't 'Belle' me. I'm not a porcelain doll, you know. We've been living together for weeks, and I've been staying in that damnable guest bedroom. You're my True Love. I think it's more than acceptable for us to be sharing a bed."

Rum stared at her for a moment, thinking of a way to rebuke her. But when he could find none, he simply smiled and shook his head before gesturing to the stairs. "After you, dear."

The smile she gave him could've lit up a whole city block.

* * *

**Whew. Yeah. I dunno how I feel about this one. It was originally going to be Belle confronting Milah and stuffs, but I guess I could write about that later. Right now, it's Belle confronting the first fear she's had in a long time. I could imagine her being an awesome mom to Baelfire, but she's also pretty young. I'd think she'd have some reservations, some nervousness about the situation. Especially if he arrived at age fourteen, like he does in this fic x) so yep! Please review (:**


	8. Halloween

**Summary: **Gabriella French makes a deal with her grouchy old employer, Mr. Gold. "Find me a costume, and I'll go."

**In the spirit of Halloween. Yes, I know, it's like, what? Two weeks away? I couldn't help myself xD**

**WARNING(s): This is in my _Over the Hills and Far Away _(OTHAFA) universe. You don't have to read that story to understand this, but I definitely recommend it. Mostly because I'm really proud of _othafa_, and it's one of my better works xD**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything!**

* * *

**_Halloween_**

He should have known trouble was brewing, the moment he saw that wicked, _wicked_ smile.

She could have overthrown empires with that smile, enslaved the entire male race to do her bidding if she only wished it. His shoulders tensed when he saw it, and his jaw locked. Whatever that smile was for, it couldn't be anything good.

"What do you want, dearie?"

"Are you opening the shop for Halloween?"

The question was so sudden, so out of the blue, that he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. So he just sat there for a moment and stared, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the girl before him. "I was planning to, why?" In Mr. Gold's book, a day of lost business wasn't a good day at all.

"Oh, okay," she said, her eyebrows furrowing and her frown deepening as she assessed him. "It's just… you know I get off at seven, right? Well, Ruby was having this Halloween party, around nine." When his expression didn't change, she huffed in mild annoyance and grinned, "And I kind of need a date."

_I kind of need a date. _The words rang in the pawnbroker's head. He stared at her, slack-jawed and wide eyed; the sight a little too comical for Gabbe. She giggled, and it seemed to break him out of his trance. "Are you… you want _me _to—"

"Only if you want to," she cut in quickly, realizing how stupid she must sound. A twenty-one year old, probably still considered a child to him, asking him _out_, on a date to some stupid Halloween bash? He must've thought she was crazy. Her cheeks flushed pink. "It's just… I t-thought you might want to go as _friends_, or something."

"Don't you have someone else to go with?" he sighed. He was flustered, but he wouldn't show it. She was young, pretty, and vibrant. Surely she had someone else vying for her attention; someone younger, closer to her age, someone a little less _beastly_—

Gabbe made a face. "Well, Galen's been asking me." Ah, the "handsy ex" as she so quaintly liked to dub him. Mr. Gold suppressed the scowl he felt coming, plastering on a look of mild distaste on at the last second.

"Oh."

The girl shrugged. "Yeah, I know. And he's sort of the reason I need a date. So he won't ask me anymore." She smiled, a little timidly, and began to backpedal. "I understand if you didn't want to—I mean, it was stupid for me to even ask—"

"I'll go," Gold interrupted, before he even thought about what he'd said. They both blinked at each other in surprise, before he swallowed thickly. Well, he couldn't take it back now. "I, I mean—" he blinked again, wondering what he _possibly _could have gotten himself into now. "I know how much you dislike the boy."

"_That's _an understatement," Gabbe grinned, positively giddy. Truthfully, she could've taken an easier route to avoid Galen. She could've lied and said she had work, or had a doctor's appointment or something. But what fun would that be, when she could see her employer dressed up for one of her favorite nights of the year? Gabbe's grin widened, and then faded just as quickly as it came. She narrowed her eyes and looked him straight on. "What's your price, Gold?"

The town menace blinked owlishly. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What. Is. Your. Price? Everyone has a price, you say it often enough. And I'm not stupid enough to think yours isn't the mother of all mother lodes. Name it. What do you want?"

Gold smirked—well, at least she wasn't deluding herself in that sense. And to think, he'd just been about to let her walk with this. "Nothing special, dearie," he cooed silkily, leaning forward so they were eye-to-eye. "You just have to find me a costume."

Gabbe's jaw tightened. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"I don't believe you."

"Give me one good reason as to why I would lie about that. Just find me a costume, and I'll go. I'll stay till midnight, if you want me to."

He didn't seem to be lying. She'd worked for him for two months, seven hours a day, from nine to four, but she can honestly say she knows him as well as he knows her—which is to say, like the back of their very hands. She can tell when he's lying—he didn't do it often, but when he did, she could spot it from a mile away. "Not that long," Gabbe said softly, still eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm not exactly a night owl."

Gold had to suppress a relieved sigh; that was good, because he wasn't what you'd typically call a _party animal_. He smiled faintly at her, his eyes twinkling a little. "So, if that's all you needed, I believe you're done here."

She returned the sentiment with a wolfish grin, grabbing her purse as she made her way out of the shop. "I believe you're right."

* * *

He shouldn't have made the deal.

The afternoon of the party, Gold stared in abstract horror at the gold-and-red dress shirt, at the monstrous mask she held in one hand. She was grinning like a maniac, the devilish wench, her blue eyes twinkling in mischief.

"You said to find you a costume. You never said you had to approve of it," she reminded him when he opened his mouth to rebuke her for her choice in costume.

"G-Gabbe," he stammered; eyes wide as she shoved the mask into his hands. "W-what do you _propose _I go as?" He never expected she'd actually _find _a costume. And if she did, he assumed it would just be a few accents to his normal attire. Not something with a mask, or such a _gaudy _shirt.

"The beast," she said plainly, as if it were obvious, blinking slowly at him. "Y'know, from _Beauty and the Beast_? I'm going as Beauty." She smiled brilliantly at him, and it probably would have floored him if he wasn't staring in openmouthed horror at the mask in his hands.

"W-_why_?" He knew could be a bit _beastly_, to the residents of Storybrooke, but he'd never have thought she'd have told him like _this_—

"The girls and I did a vote," she scoffed. "Trust me; I didn't want this, either. _I _wanted to be a vampire. But the bad part about being best friends with Ruby is she forces you to dress up as whoever she wants. And this year, her theme was fairytales. Ironic, right?" She rolled her eyes. "She's going as Little Red Riding Hood—no surprise, there. Mary Margaret's going as Snow White, thanks to a brand-new, seven-piece-set of black hair extensions from Ruby." She grinned up at her employer as she held up the red-and-gold embroidered outfit. "I looked the most like Belle, so there you go."

"And what of Miss Boyd?" Mr. Gold grunted, scowling down at the strange shirt.

Gabbe frowned. "Ash's… um… not going. She and Sean have been having issues, so she's sitting it out. Plus, she's been feeling kinda sick lately." A thoughtful look crossed her face, and Gold knew that his loyal employee would probably be checking on her friend first thing in the morning, if she got the chance.

"I see."

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "Could you put on that mask? Yeah, yeah, Mr. G. Grumble all you want, I'm not changing my mind. You're wearing it; you _promised_."

Gold pulled the thing on and immediately felt ridiculous, wondering just _why _he put in so much effort for this girl. For this clumsy, sweet, brilliant twenty-one year old girl.

_Oh yeah, _his mind scoffed, _it's because you're in love with her. _Alright, maybe not _in love_, but Gold couldn't deny the way his heart sped up a few beats when she gave him that _smile_, or the way her voice was the highlight of his day. He shook his head. That was ridiculous. What he wished for—beyond _ridiculous_.

He could see her frown through the tiny slits for his eyes, through the mask. "You look like the cowardly lion from _The Wizard of Oz_," she said plainly, before shaking her head and removing the thing. "Oh, no. That won't do. At all. Ruby will have my head. People need to _know _who you are." She drummed her fingers against her chin, thinking, puckering her lips as she assessed him. "Maybe makeup?"

Gold closed his eyes and tried not to whine. "You know, I was planning on giving you a pay-raise for all your hard work. You can forget it now."

Gabbe rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, grinning, gathering up the mask and shirt. "I'll be back in an hour. That gives us about two hours to get ready. I need to pick up your pants and my dress from the dry-cleaners, and then I need to stop by the costume store for some face paint."

She made a beeline for the door, shooting him a wink and sashaying out before he could even think of something to say.

Oh yeah, he was _really _regretting that deal.

* * *

"Miss French. I am not wearing that."

"_Gabbe_. Call me _Gabbe_, Mr. Gold. I'm your employee, not one of many of the denizens of Storybrooke you like to terrorize for rent and overdue loans on a biweekly basis."

"Fine, _Gabriella_."

She rolled her eyes at her mouthful of a name, but smiled anyway. It was a start, and however sarcastic he was, he was trying. She'd just finished applying his makeup—an odd glittery gold-gray foundation she'd found while hunting through the Halloween store, and it looked great. As she dusted the last of the gold flecks onto his weathered skin, she found herself staring. Familiarity slammed into her like an oncoming car, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe.

_Wow, déjà vu._

She shook away the odd notion, smiling pleasantly and beginning to work on his hair—crimping and twisting the tendrils with some odd gel she'd found at the shop slathered in her hands. The end result was something that resembled curled straw. The feeling of familiarity ran through her yet again, but she ignored it this time, and offered him the pants again.

"Not happening," the pawnbroker spat vehemently.

"Your suit pants won't look good, though!"

"Gabbe, at this point, I think you're _asking_ me to fire you."

She scowled. "Mr. Gold, you _promised_."

Gold frowned. The little minx—using his words against him. That was the last time he made a deal without thinking it through all the way. What was wrong with him? He was usually so _careful_, and now…? He growled and snatched the leather monstrosity away from his assistant. The girl was cruel.

He disappeared into the backroom to change. Gabriella had changed before arriving, slipping out of her jeans and "Love is Louder" t-shirt and wrestling into the terror of a gold ball-gown. To the costume store's credit, it was an exact replica of the one Belle had been wearing in the Disney movie, but no one ever said it would be that _difficult _to get in. Not to mention the corset.

Gabbe _hated _the corset.

"Just so you know," Gold said as he exited the back room, drawing the young woman out of her stupor, "I hate you and I look nothing like the Beast."

Gabbe grinned and assessed him—he truly didn't. Not in those black combat boots or the red and gold silk shirt, or the odd makeup and hairstyle—or those _pants_. Gabbe had to force herself not to whistle. Yeah, those pants were amazing. Her eyes flitted back up to meet his and she giggled. "I know you don't, but humor me. You can be something else. It'd work. No one will even recognize you."

"You better hope they don't," the pawnbroker threatened darkly as he clomped his way past her. He was having a rough time walking in the bottom half of his ensemble—Gabbe snorted, covering the sound up as a cough. She probably wasn't any better, anyway, stumbling around in her four-inch heels and tripping over skirts.

Quite the pair they were going to make.

* * *

Ruby had rented out a nightclub on the edge of town for her little soirée, and Belle had to stop and wonder just how she'd managed to come up with the cash. The waitress must've been begging Granny for raises and saving up for the past _two _years to snag this.

Luckily, though, it meant a lot of people and a crowd big enough to get lost in. Gold didn't know exactly what Gabbe had expected they _do _once they got to the party, seeing as neither of them were inclined to _mingle_. They danced for a bit, until his leg began to bother him and they sat it out. He nearly objected when she followed him, turning to tell her to go have fun, but she'd scoffed and shook her head, waved him off. She didn't seem to want to do anything, opting to accompany him in the back, wedged in a booth, passing feeble attempts at conversation and sipping cocktails.

"So," he started slowly, eyeing her curiously, "If you're not going to dance or mingle or even hang out with your friends, why come?" It was something that had been nagging him since the end of the second dance—since they'd arrived, she seemed to have problems enjoying herself. She'd smile at people she knew and wave at friends; she'd drink and she danced, and she seemed to be content if nothing else, but _happy _was a far cry, from what he was seeing.

The question seemed to have taken her off guard. She looked down at her glass. "I don't know. Ruby wanted me here. And she's been such a freak about this party lately; I was kinda scared to say no." She giggled and played with her napkin, sobering when her employer made it obvious he wasn't buying it. "Alright, you want the truth?"

"I'd certainly appreciate it more than the _alternative_."

She smiled weakly. "Well, I wanted to get you out of the shop, quite honestly." She looked at him truthfully, earnestly, her eyes sparkling and her smile gentle.

Gold blinked—she'd _what_? "You did this all because you wanted me to get out of the _shop_?"

"Well, yeah. And I needed someone to deter Galen. He's a handsy jerk with boundary issues, for sure, but only for single girls. If he saw I was already taken, he wouldn't try." She shrugged. "He's honorable in that regard, I suppose." And when she saw the incredulity in his eyes hadn't faded, she huffed. "What do you want me to say, Mr. G? You're so _serious_. Cooped up in that pawnshop every day, all day, from hours before I arrive 'till hours after I leave. You're there whenever you're not roaming the town hunting for rent and new victims. If Ruby and I hadn't pestered you nonstop when we were twelve to get you to buy Girl Scout Cookies, I never would've thought you even had a _house_."

He smiled at that, and she grinned in reply—a victory, however small. "Yes, alright. I admit, I am somewhat of a workaholic. But still, to go to these lengths? A bit extreme, don't you think?"

Gabbe shrugged. "You strike me as an extreme kind of guy. And, well, I wasn't lying when I said Galen gets handsy. This way, it's a win-win. You don't wither from antisocialism, and I don't have my loser ex hanging around all over the place." She sucked in a breath and twirled the straw in her drink around. "Plus… well, we're friends, right, Mr. Gold?"

Gold blinked. Were they _friends_? It was hard to tell, sometimes. They toed the line between friends and acquaintances daily, and it was becoming a bit of a dance for them. They would run hot and cold every other day. Gabbe would try and prod him into a conversation and he'd give her the cold shoulder, or he would kick-start a debate on whatever novel she'd been reading and she would be off daydreaming.

"I don't know, Gabbe."

"I like to think we are," she said pleasantly, giving him that odd smile. "And, well, this is what friends do. They hang out, they talk. I like it."

"Well…" he shifted uncomfortably. The leather was beginning to chafe, and he scowled. "We can do it again sometime, maybe. But _I'm _deciding what I wear next time. I hate leather."

Gabbe burst out laughing. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry; I wasn't even thinking when I picked it out." She shook her head, moving a hand up to pluck out the bobby pins holding her hair back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just know it's wretchedly uncomfortable." He shifted again, his eyes lifting to capture hers. "So… why _did _you pick it?" He'd been wondering that since he'd initially seen the outfit—he may have hated the outfit and its complexity with every fiber of his being, but that didn't mean it didn't look good on him. Okay, well—maybe not _good_. But not _bad_. Familiar.

Yes, familiar, that was the word.

Why, though, he had no idea. He just felt as though maybe he'd worn this before. In a past life.

_How ridiculous_.

Gabbe bit her lip. "Truth be told, I have no idea. It just looked…"

"Familiar?" he guessed, bringing his cocktail up to his lips.

She paused, eyebrows furrowed, staring down at her hands. Her lips were pressed together, and for a moment, she wasn't Gabriella French, his assistant. Her name was Belle and she was the princess of a seaside kingdom named Avonlea, and he was Rumpelstiltskin, her beast.

He blinked at the absurdity of the notion, before she spoke again.

"Yes, familiar," she murmured, still staring at her hands, as if in wonder, "Very, very familiar."

* * *

**A/N: So... huh. Yeah. I'm still not used to writting Gabbe/Gabriella. I can't tell you how many times I accidentally wrote "Belle". But I guess that's to be expected, yeah? Lol, anyway, I hope you like it, and please please pleaaaaaaseeee... review (:**


	9. Stupid Cupid

**Summary: **Rumpelstiltskin procures a peculiar pack of arrows from a girl in the Northlands; Belle is curious and accidentally stabs herself with one. Chaos ensues.

**What's to say about this little diddy? Even I don't know.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything!**

* * *

**_Stupid Cupid_**

_Hey, go play Robin Hood with somebody else's heart. –Mandy Moore, "Stupid Cupid"_

* * *

The arrows really were quite lovely, Rumpelstiltskin conceded as he clomped back into the Main Hall of the Dark Castle. They were made of the strong, sturdy bone of some animal with a name he couldn't pronounce, tipped with pink feathers. The tips were the same pale pink as the feathers, shaped like hearts on one tip of the ivory. He could feel the strong, pure, _good_ magic radiating off of them, and it made him shiver both in disgust and appreciation.

It wasn't a permanent transaction, that the Dark One knew—simply a temporary trade, enchanted arrows for a bewitched ring. He'd get his ring back eventually, and likewise, the arrows would be returned to their rightful owner—a girl swathed in pink that'd been travelling along the shores of a beach, somewhere high up north, barely on the border of the lands where the Snow Palace lay. Why the airheaded Cupid had been in such a lonely place, he didn't know.

But the transaction had been made, and Rum couldn't say he wasn't satisfied. The arrows would come in handy if she never came back to claim them. He hung the satchel on one of the hooks in the Main Hall, the arrows gleaming in the dim candlelight. They were absolutely stunning—even he couldn't deny that. The gossamer pearl-pink feathers shone ethereally, flashing different colors when they hit the light a certain way.

"What's that?"

Belle's voice broke him out of the trance the arrows had enticed. He almost jumped, turning his head to face her. A grin split his face when he saw the lightly glazed look in his caretaker's eyes.

"They're beautiful," she breathed, taking a few steps forward, eyeing them appreciatively.

"Don't get too attached to them, dearie," he twittered, "I'm merely holding them for a friend. They've sort of been… pawned, for a few days."

Belle blinked, and something like disappointment flashed in her eyes. "Oh. Alright, then." She lifted her feather duster. "I'll just get back to work. Tea in an hour?" She looked to him for confirmation.

"Sounds wonderful, dearie," he replied cheerily, more than a little curious at how… un-Belle-like she was being. Her eyes were glued to the satchel. He frowned a bit.

It looked like dark magic wasn't the only kind of magic that could bewitch.

* * *

Belle couldn't tear her eyes away from the red velvet satchel. The arrows inside gleamed with something beautiful, something that had her feeling sleepy and warm. Maybe a bewitchment, the suspicious voice of her nursemaid said in her head, but she shook it away. Whatever it was, it wasn't sinister. Quite the contrary.

Whatever radiated off the arrows made her feel… warm. And comfortable. And distinctly _safe_. She knew it was silly, just whatever enchantment that was on them that made her feel this way, but it was true. And real.

And she wanted to touch them.

Just to feel the soft, silky gossamer of the feathers beneath her fingertips—or the smooth ivory of the bone-wrought shaft. Or maybe the strange, blunted tip. And before Belle knew what she was doing, she was moving forward, her hand looming over one of the arrows. She thought she smelled Rumpelstiltskin, the nearer she drew—his odd, strange scent of magic and the woods.

She turned her head.

He wasn't there.

_How odd… _she mused, reaching back out, the call of the enchantment too powerful to resist—

"Ow!"

And nicked herself. A small droplet of blood pooled on her fingertip and she hissed, bringing it up to her lips.

She could still smell him, lingering in the air.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin entered the Main Hall exactly half an hour later, for tea.

When he saw no sign of Belle, however, he frowned.

"Belle?" he called; nothing. Silence met his ears. No telltale creak of the floorboards, no humming, nothing. Just the silence that reminded him of the dark and dreary days before she'd come to stay. He shivered at the echo of a memory, before moving through the hall. "Belle?" he called again.

And this time, he was met with something.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" her laughing voice echoed behind him, before two arms wrapped around his neck and she hoisted herself up onto his back. He _oomphed_ and barely had time to react, catching her behind the thighs before she could fall back down.

"B-Belle?" What was going on? Had she gotten into his liquor stash? Or perhaps a potion of some kind that'd made her loopy? Whatever it was, it was making her giggle like a madwoman, her grip around his neck nearly suffocating.

"Hi, you." And to his infinite surprise, she kissed his cheek.

She _kissed _his _cheek_.

"B-Belle, what's going on?" he hated the stutter in his voice; hated it with a burning passion. But he couldn't help it as he craned his neck to stare at her—at that goofy, stupid smile, those glazed eyes, those parted lips, coming so close to him—

He yelped and dropped her. She landed with catlike grace on the hardwood floor, her smile morphing into a pout. "That's not very nice," she simpered, taking a step forward.

He responded by taking a step back.

Belle giggled. "Oh, my. The big, bad Dark One? Scared of little ol' me?"

"Belle," he said again, his voice gaining back some of its authority. "What the hell are you doing?"

She giggled again and shrugged. She was acting so bizarre. "Oh, nothing, my _master_." He didn't like the way she said the word "master". She dragged it out until the word lost its real meaning, suggesting something that would've made him blush if he were completely human. "At least," she whispered, drawing him out of his musings, "Nothing I shouldn't have started doing a _long _time ago."

She lunged forward again.

He scrambled backwards with all the grace of a newborn foal, his back slamming against the grand table. He gulped. He was by no means _trapped_, per say, but he felt his heartbeat skip into overtime as she neared him. "Belle—"

She didn't seem to hear him. She just kept coming closer, her footfalls graceful and dainty, her smile mischievous, her eyes… her eyes.

He couldn't tell what was behind her eyes, but whatever it was, it made his heart skip a few beats. He pushed the notion away and kept his gaze focused solely on her. No… _no_. She'd nicked herself with an arrow, but no magic, not even a Cupid's, could replicate love. The arrows only magnified what love the person had already been feeling. If there was no love, it turned to lust. This was lust, whatever it was. A suggestion, an obsession, come from the magical serum that came from the pale pink-and-white weapons.

Her lips brushed his, and he felt his body turn to jelly. He hadn't felt this way in a long time, and her lips were nearly on his…

His eyes snapped open, and he sucked in a sharp breath, jerking backwards just when her lips were about to meet his. He snapped his fingers together.

And Belle fell, limp in his arms, her head lolling to one side.

* * *

Cupid—Cooper, as some humans knew her—transported herself right outside the Dark Castle and wrinkled her nose in slight distaste. The estate was beautiful, but it reeked of dark magic, and her highly sensitive nerves had picked up on it miles away.

She fingered the enchanted ring the Dark One had bartered in her hand and entered the castle, uninvited. It wasn't as if Rumpelstiltskin could kill her—he wasn't stupid. Killing a Cupid meant killing Love.

And if you killed Love, why would anyone want to live?

Coop raked a hand through her light brown tendrils of hair, her bright hazel eyes sweeping across the Main Hall as she skipped inside. The place was reminiscent of a magpie's nest, baubles and objects of every kind lying around. She was so absorbed in scrutinizing the copious amounts of paraphernalia; she probably wouldn't have noticed the two figures standing in the middle of the room if her name hadn't been called.

"Coop!" Rumpelstiltskin hissed, heaving the limp body of a girl up into one of the armchairs with ease. "What the hell are you doing back here? I thought you needed the ring for a few _days_."

"I did," Coop said, still eyeing the scene before her with barely-concealed amusement. She set the ring down on the dining room table and turned her attention to the girl, who was currently out cold. "But that was when I thought finding that princess and the caravan of fellows who kidnapped her would be _difficult_. I found them within ten minutes; stopped them within twenty, reunited her and her lover within six. In all, it was a productive day. I didn't much need your… ahem, _tracking services_, after all." She gestured to the ruby colored gem.

"Well that's all well and good," the Dark One snapped, "We've solved your riddle; can we please solve mine, now? The girl got a hold of your arrows, pricked herself on one, and tried to jump me. What do I do?"

Cooper raised an eyebrow at the sorcerer before turning her attention to his caretaker—she was a pretty, petite thing, with russet-colored curls and a heart of pure… well, gold couldn't even begin to describe it. The Cupid nearly _awwwwed _at the amount of innocence that wafted from her. Even living here, in the midst of all the disturbing truths and the dark magic and the spellbinding secrets, she was untouched. Uncorrupted. Good.

_Loving._

She was in love. Even though she was unconscious, Coop could tell. Her arrows wouldn't have worked otherwise. Oh, sure, they could cause lust. But only if the person who'd been pricked by the arrow tip wanted it, some deep part of themselves. This girl, it seemed, barely knew anything about coupling, other than it was something a husband and a wife did.

No, she was far too innocent to think something like that.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Rumpelstiltskin snapped. Cooper startled, drawing out of the girl's mind to lift her eyes up to meet his. He was eyeing her impatiently, his trademark scowl evident. "Can you fix it?"

"Already fixed," Cooper said, giving a slow shrug. "Let her sleep it off. When she wakes up in a couple of hours, the spell should have worn off. It was just a prick, right? She didn't… _stab _herself, or anything?" When he shook his head, she nodded. "Yeah, it's not permanent. If it was just a cut, the magic that was suggesting her should disappear."

The Dark One relaxed. "That's good. The last thing I need is for my caretaker trying to play seductress while I'm working."

Coop eyed Rumpelstiltskin curiously. She'd been doing her job for a very long time, suggesting people to fall in love when their names appeared on her List. But for all the years this Dark One had been alive, as a human or an imp, his name had never been on her list of charges. Not even during his marriage with Milah. But she had a feeling—a very strong feeling, in fact—that when she looked at the scroll of parchment she kept hidden at her palace between the bubbles of sea-foam, his name would be there.

And so would Belle's.

"You don't honestly think all that was just _lust_, do you, Rumple?" Cooper asked.

Rumpelstiltskin eyed her. "What else would it be?"

"Love, maybe?"

He snorted; actually snorted, and Cooper felt her heart chip just a little. How awful was his life, that even the _possibility _of love was so _hopeless_, so _foreign_? "Nobody loves a monster, Cupid."

Coop was silent. She couldn't deny that. Monsters didn't know good or evil; they just knew primal desires, and the carnal need to _survive_. Love was a trivial, human matter that they didn't bother themselves with. But Rumpelstiltskin was in love, was he not?

So, therefore, he could not be a monster.

"What about men, dressed as monsters?" she asked aloud, more to herself than to the imp in front of her. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes shot up in shock, and then he grinned; it was impish and silly and distinctly _him_, but there was something sad lying beyond the depths of his yellow, pitted smile.

"Goodbye, Cupid."

Cooper smiled, and took her satchel from where they lay by the china cabinet. "Fine. Dismiss me. You can't run from fate forever. Fare thee well, Rumpelstiltskin." And she turned to go, but not before seeing his smile fade into something a little more thoughtful, his eyes turning to stare at the girl on the armchair. Cupid had to bite her lip to keep from giggling with mirth.

Oh yes, she'd be visiting the Dark Castle soon, very soon. Its inhabitants just wouldn't know it yet.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I know, Cupid isn't a fairytale. But I wanted to try this idea out; it seemed like fun. And it was partially-angsty, partially humorous, and it let me toy around with their pre-Belle-gets-thrown-out-of-the-Dark-Castle feelings. I know there isn't much Belle in this one, but it was more about their relationship from an outside POV, and Rum's "monster complex", I guess. Mostly, it was just a random thingy I came up with when I was bored. So yeah. This Cupid was crafted from a lot of things; Coop from the TV show "Charmed", where I got her name, "Christmas Cupid" where the only thing I really did was make her a female, and the story of Aphrodite/Venus. Aphrodite was said to have been born from sea foam; Coop's palace is _in _sea foam. Don't ask me how that works; it's FTL, anything is possible.**


	10. Social Creatures

**Summary: **Gabriella French finds something very odd in Mr. Gold's shop.

**A sort of expansion on the snippet "Chipped", from my fanfic, _Over the Hills and Far Away_. Hope you all like it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything!**

* * *

**_Social Creatures_**

Mr. Gold kept watch over his new assistant as she dusted his shop, humming a song he didn't know under her breath. Not even twenty minutes ago, she'd arrived in a huff over something her brainless twit of a father had done, no doubt.

Now she was acting as if it'd never happened; dancing around, cleaning, humming—the very epitome of a Disney Princess. All she was missing was Bambi's incarnation to help her out.

They didn't speak—there was nothing to say, not really. So he went back to pouring over the ledger before him. Maybe this would work. Maybe she could just do her job, he could give her a paycheck at the end of each week, and it could work.

He knew it wouldn't be that easy though—after all, Gabriella French was a social creature, and he knew that spending seven hours a day with him in complete silence, for five days a week, would grate on her eventually. She'd talk to him eventually—Gold knew she would.

And he had to admit; he was dreading that day. It was one thing to tell her what to do, to give her a job; making idle chitchat with his spacey assistant was something else entirely.

Unlike Gabriella French, Mr. Gold was not a social creature.

He watched her, like a beast might watch an unsuspecting maiden, as she walked with all the grace of a dancer, twirling her duster around the porcelain tea-set he coveted. He'd procured it some time ago, the name of the person who'd sold it lost on him. She paused, and he kept watching her.

Gabbe picked up one of the teacups—a sad, chipped little thing that had his heart picking up in double-time. Why, he wasn't sure. He just knew that nobody but _he _was allowed to touch the porcelain imperfection. Only him. Not even the airy little girl he'd hired.

She turned to go, probably to the trash bin to throw it away, but he grabbed her wrist before she could. Their eyes locked, blue to brown, and instead of the disgust he was sure she was feeling at being touched by an old miser, he only saw confusion. Sweet, innocent confusion.

"It's chipped," she said. Her voice was soft, and still so confused.

He gently took the cup from her and set it back on the sterling silver tray. His heart rate slowly returned to normal. "Chipped, but not broken, my dear," he said, a small smile touching his features. "And the set's just not complete without it."

Gabbe eyed him for a moment, one eyebrow raised in confusion. Then she smiled, giggling in slight disbelief. "Alrighty then, bossy." She turned on her heel, going back to her humming and dancing around the shop.

And Mr. Gold knew, despite the fact that Gabriella French was a social creature and he was not, he wouldn't mind talking to her anymore.

Not really.


	11. In This Kingdom by the Sea

**Summary: **She'd rather marry a man with many layers than a one-dimensional prince charming.

**Inspired by the line, "I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea", taken by the poem _Annabel __Lee _by the remarkable Edgar Allan Poe, this is part one of two. The first part is Belle's. The second is Rumpel's. The two oneshots revolve around child-Belle and child-Rumple, and their dealings with concepts like True Love, fairytales, happily ever afters, and princes in disguise. I hope you like it!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything you recognize.**

* * *

**_In This Kingdom by the Sea_**

_I'm like a kid who just won't let it go. Twisting and turning the colors in rows. I'm so intent to find out what it is. This is my Rubik's Cube… I know I can figure it out. _[_Rubik's Cube_ by Athlete]

* * *

The girl's name was Snow White.

Queen Carlotta and King Leopold's daughter, the little princess with a heart of pure gold from the neighboring kingdom. King Leopold's Kingdom was huge, far bigger than the merchant king Maurice's small seaside castle and the string of towns and villages he overlooked, but Queen Carlotta, King Leopold, and little Snow liked to visit the lands of Avonlea often.

They liked to watch the wild, ebbing waves of the Enchanted Sea, to go on boat rides with the locals and make friends with the merfolk who lived in the waters. They liked the scour the vast, overflowing marketplaces, full of silks so soft and foods so rich the markets in their own kingdom couldn't begin to compare.

But most of all, Carlotta, Leopold and Snow loved to visit King Maurice's castle.

It was a tiny, cozy estate compared to Leopold's palace, but it was beautiful in its own right, full of twisting, curving vines, looping through iron-wrought gates that sat on a hill overlooking the ocean on one side, the kingdom of Avonlea on the other. Carlotta and Leopold liked the estate because they were good friends with the merchant king Maurice and his queen, Celeste.

Snow liked it because it meant she got to play with her best friend, Belle.

Due to their parent's close relationship, Snow and Belle had been friends since birth. Despite the fact their kingdoms were miles apart; they made time for each other as much as they could. Every winter, Belle would travel with her mother to the faraway lands of Leopold's palace to take part in the yuletide celebrations, and every summer, Snow would do the same, travelling with her whole family to visit her best friend and swim in the waters of the Enchanted Seas of Avonlea.

It was one of these summers, many years before Lady Celeste was taken by ogres on a carriage ride through the forest, leaving her daughter with nothing but a pearl necklace to remember her by; many years before a devious imp would come around and leave a certain beauty breathless; many years before Queen Carlotta fell to sickness and left her husband and daughter with holes in their hearts and memories in their heads; many years before an evil queen was carved from a lovestruck miller's girl, that Belle and Snow discovered the concept of "true love".

Of course, every child in both of their kingdoms, maybe even in the realms beyond, knew of the powerful, unadulterated magic that was True Love's Kiss. It was the ultimate curse or the ultimate blessing, depending on who you asked. It could break your heart and leave you broken in the dark, or it could save your life (lessons both of the little princesses would learn, in their own time, but that's another story for another day).

The two eight-year-old princesses had taken their rattiest, dirtiest cloaks and had convinced Marisol, Belle's fourteen-year-old nursemaid, to help them sneak out into the thrall of the world outside the palace. The two girls had done this only twice before, taking the guises of young peasant children and pestering the busy, bustling marketplace as it prepared for the annual summer festival.

"Let's go to the bookstore," Belle said, tugging Snow's hand when they reached the middle of the market. They had only two, maybe three hours at most, to scour the grounds and to stay out of trouble before anyone began to notice, and Belle always loved to spend at least one and a half of those hours holed up in a bookshop.

Snow smiled and rolled her eyes. She was used to Belle's bookish nature, and was by no means against it (she loved books too, though probably not as much as her blue-eyed best friend). "Alright," Snow said, following Belle obediently to one of the shops, pulling her cloak tight around her. The air was unnaturally chilly this summer afternoon, and Snow shivered as a breeze ripped past and tossed her hair around. She hadn't been expecting the chill.

The princesses sighed when they entered the shop, but for entirely different reasons. Snow sighed because the fire crackling in the corner was beginning to seep through her skin the second she walked through the door; Belle sighed because she was finally in her safe-haven, her little hovel of books.

The shopkeeper, an old man who went by the name of Eduard, smiled when he saw the girls enter. "My ladies," he said warmly, bowing low at the two children. The girls giggled and curtseyed back. "Back already?"

"I finished my book!" Belle told Eduard excitedly, taking out the fairly-thick book and placing it gently on the desk.

Eduard's eyes widened, while Snow merely rolled hers and giggled again. "Already?" The old man sounded incredulous, but impressed.

"She couldn't put it down," Snow piped in, "I had to play all by myself, she had her nose in that thing practically all night!" She pouted, but grinned when Belle mock-glared at her.

The blue-eyed princess turned back to Eduard, clapping her hands together and giving a little twirl. "She's right; I couldn't. Far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!" Her eyes gained a glazed, dreamy look, and the bookseller smiled.

"If you like it so much, keep it," he said, holding the book back out to her.

Belle gasped, clutching the book close to her chest. "Thank you so much, sir!" she dipped into another curtsey. Snow had wandered away, across the small, one-room shop, browsing the child's stories.

"It's not a problem, my dear," Eduard said. Belle slipped the book inside one of the pockets sewn on the inside of her cloak. The bookseller smiled down at the little princess—it always overjoyed him to see the bright, wide-eyed look that overcame the little girl's face every time she saw a book. It was refreshing to know that she would not become narrow-minded or one-tracked in her way of thought, like her father. King Maurice was a kind, generous man, but he was also prideful and narrow in his thoughts. "So," Eduard began, when Belle took a seat by the fire, opening up her new book. Snow was on the other side of the shop, browsing odd titles and squinting at gold-embossed spines. "What was your favorite part of the book?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be able to decide," Belle said thoughtfully, flipping mindlessly through the tome. Snow, having finally found her reading choice for the day, plopped down beside her with a large leather tome in hand. "When she finds out he's her prince, I suppose."

Snow, having read the book Belle was talking about, only giggled. "Mine was when they got married and lived happily ever after."

Belle frowned. "Well, that was nice," she said, "But I don't think it'd be that easy. Real life's not always full of happily ever afters." Ah, so perceptive, the strange little princess Belle, Eduard thought, blinking in abstract surprise at the little girl. She was older beyond her years, he thought.

Snow sighed and flipped lazily through the pages of the book in her lap. "No, but it would be so nice if it was, wouldn't it? Conquer the world, save the world; find your prince charming, live happily ever after."

"Ah, but then life would get predictable," Eduard said from behind the counter.

Belle grinned. "Exactly. Take the prince, for example. If you didn't know beforehand, you'd be just as lost as the princess was! With the way he treated her, the way he talked to her… you'd never guess that he was that dashing, daring, brave prince in disguise." She sighed dreamily and turned the page. "I always liked things that were beyond the human eye."

Snow, now curious, smiled over at Belle. "What do you mean?"

Belle shrugged. "I like… I like things that are layered. Mysteries to be uncovered. When I grow up, I'd rather marry a man of layers than a one-dimensional knight like—like—"

"Like Gaston?" Snow asked, a smirk tilting her lips up.

Belle repressed a shudder. "Yes, like Gaston." Gaston, the duke of the Northlands' dreadful little boy and her future husband. Belle dreaded the day they were to be married. It would be like being someone's trophy—an object to be shined, polished, and shone off. No real use to it.

Belle's eye caught the sun, sinking in the west, and she gasped. "Oh gods, we've probably been here for hours!"

Snow's head snapped towards the sky and she yelped, standing up and shoving the book she'd been reading in one of the bookshelves. "I'm sorry, Mr. Eduard, we have to go; our parents are going to be so angry! Goodbye!" The young princesses smiled and gave quick curtseys before flying out the door, their cloaks flying behind them.

Eduard smiled and shook his head.

* * *

"Belle?"

Belle snapped her book shut. The only book she'd thought to take with her before leaving her father's estate, the book she'd been cradling in her hands that fateful day in the war room. This book had given her courage, through everything. She didn't need courage now, of course. But a good story was always cherished, especially on a night as dark and as stormy as this.

As if to prove her point, lightening flashed outside, and thunder boomed.

"Rumpelstiltskin?" she replied, turning her head slightly. The fire in the hearth before her had turned to dimly lit embers, and the storm outside was her only lullaby. She hadn't been able to sleep, so she'd dragged herself out of bed with her beloved book, and had taken her place beside her employer while he spun into the night.

"I'm going to bed, dearie," the imp said. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his eyes on her, deep and dark and whiskey brown. "Aren't you tired?" Translation: aren't you going to bed, too?

She smiled tiredly. "No. Too restless. Storms make me restless."

"I can make you a potion for that," he offered, coming up to sink in the armchair beside her. He snapped his fingers together and the fire roared back to life, chasing away the chill of the storm outside.

She shook her head, entranced by the flames. "No. Thank you, though."

"Where did you get that book?" he asked her, after a few beats of silence, taking note of the book in her arms. It wasn't from the library he knew she frequented when she thought he didn't notice.

"My father's estate."

"I know that, dearie."

She grinned. It was tired and worn, but stunning. "The bookseller, back home. Eduard. I've always loved this book; he gave it to me as a gift, when I was a child." Her eyes misted over, remembering that day. She remembered everything, from tricking Marisol to get her and Snow out of the castle to the conversation about one-dimensional princes and layers to running back and getting a good tongue lashing by both of their mothers.

Rumpelstiltskin watched her. "You miss it?" It was more of a statement than a question.

She shrugged. "If you'd have asked me ten years ago, I would have said yes. Now?" she smiled. "It's everything I could've wished for."

He almost snorted. "Excuse me, dearie? That's quite possibly the _last _answer I could have expected. You're a caretaker to a beast."

"You're not a beast," she murmured, arguing against him before she even really thought it through. She could sense his shock at her statement, but she didn't dwell on it, deciding to continue. "And, well… it's true. What did I have back home? A father who treated me as though I was a prize to be won, and a fiancé who acted as though he were the winner of said prize. And my best friend—" She sucked in a breath and stopped short, blinking away the stinging in her eyes. Snow. Her sweet, beautiful best friend Snow White, pushed into hiding because of something her stepmother did. Belle had never met the queen in person, Regina, but she knew her best friend, and Snow was no murderer. She'd been pushed into the arms of the Dark Forest, or so Belle had heard, the months after Snow's escape and the weeks before the beauty's deal with Rumpelstiltskin.

Belle took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to meet Rumpelstiltskin's. "My best friend… wasn't exactly _available_, when I decided to deal with you."

"At least here," Belle began again, changing the subject, "At least here I get some excitement. You know, with all the enchanted necklaces and bewitched shoes and arrows." Rumpelstiltskin flinched at her mention of the arrows and she giggled, pointing a finger at him. "What? What is it? Are you ever going to tell me _what _happened when I was under that bewitchment?"

Rumpelstiltskin giggled madly and stood in a sweeping motion. "Some stories shouldn't be told, dearie. Some stories shouldn't be told. Anyhow, I'm off to bed." And with that, he disappeared in a puff of smoke before she could say anything more.

Belle pouted and leaned back in the armchair. "One second he's asking me about my life, the next he's laughing his head off. Such a mystery, that man," she mumbled under her breath, biting back a smile as she traced the cover of her book.

* * *

**Yeah. Happy Thanksgiving, those of you who celebrate it! xD anyway, this kind of popped into my head randomly. Wouldn't it be cool, though, if Snow already knew Belle? I mean, maybe they would, right? It's possible. They were both princesses, and… well, yeah. That's their only similarity, really, but maybe they met at a ball or something? Who knows. But in this universe, they were besties until Snow became a kickass princess/thief/fugitive and Belle became Rumple's caretaker. So… yeah. Also, I tried to keep it canon by mentioning Belle never met Regina in person. She knew who she was and what she'd done to Snow, she just didn't know who she was that day on the road. They'd never met face-to-face.**

**ALSO, I realized that at the end of the first part, when they were children, they didn't really sound like _children_. When I was writing it, I kind of got the young-teenager vibes. But hey, they probably had to grow up fast. So, yeah, anyway.**

**Please, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!**


	12. Prince of Nothing Charming

**Summary: **Gaston attempts to do what he couldn't do in the old world—rescue Belle.

**Just a little something I threw together randomly. I'm kind of curious as to what happened to him—was he ever a person in Storybrooke, did he wilt in Rumple's care, or was one of many roses in a bouquet that Moe sold on that fateful Valentine's Day? There won't be anything lost if he never shows his face again, for sure, but I can't say I'm not curious. Maybe they'll explain his fate someday. Or maybe Rumple can explain it to Belle. I don't know.**

**Anyway, this takes place sometime after 2x04, in my _Little Lion Man _universe, so BAE IS PRESENT. But Belle never moved out. She still lives with Rumple, and they never had that fight about his magic. Maurice did still kidnap her, though xD**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything!

* * *

**_Prince of Nothing Charming_**

Galen Hawthorne, known in the old world as the knight Gaston, breathed heavily through his nostrils as he stomped his way down Rosewood Avenue. Gold hadn't been at the pawnshop today, and according to most of the townspeople, nobody had seen him since the curse had been broken.

That left only one place.

The beast's very lair.

Fear bubbled up momentarily in the pit of Galen's stomach at the thought of facing the imp again—in the Enchanted Forest, Gaston had spent the better part of two years as an enchanted, never-wilting rose, only to be spit back up in this backwoods Maine town as a mechanic. It hadn't ended well, and he couldn't imagine how well it would turn out this time.

The former knight paused in front of the two-story Victorian home. Who knew a pink house could radiate so much fear and darkness? Galen swallowed thickly, gathered whatever courage he may have possessed and stalked up to the front door, banging on it loudly with his fist.

He would get Belle back this time. She'd become his wife, and they'd live happily ever after, just like Maurice had wanted.

He would not let the beast have her.

* * *

"Papa, Belle, there's someone at the door," Baelfire said, yawning as he entered his parent's room. It was an ungodly hour for a Saturday morning, barely past seven, and no one in the Gold household was ready to be woken up just yet.

Normally, Baelfire would have just answered the door himself and let his father and his surrogate mother have their sleep, but ever since Milah had shown her face again, Belle and Gold had set up a rule that he was, under no circumstance, allowed to open the door.

Gold groaned and tugged his girlfriend closer. "Five more minutes," he said sleepily, "Tell them to go away or I'll turn them into snails."

"Papa!" Baelfire sounded horrified.

"Behave, Rumpel," Belle warned, now fully awake and trying to shimmy her way out of his surprisingly strong grip. He whimpered in protest when she managed to stumble out, sliding her feet into fuzzy pink slippers before beckoning Bae close to her. "Come on, let sleeping dragons lie."

Bae grinned and Rumpelstiltskin growled in distaste, shoving Belle's abandoned pillow over his head. "Not a dragon. Mmrph… a crocodile…" Snoring interrupted his half-coherent sentence, and Belle and Bae shared a questioning look before shrugging and making their way downstairs.

The banging only grew more insistent, and Belle sighed in slight irritation. Whatever this was about, it had better be pretty damn important. She was usually so bright and cheerful, but when it was nearing seven-oh-six on her day off, she was allowed to be a little grumpy.

Baelfire made himself comfortable on the couch and began fumbling for the remote, ready for a morning full of mind-numbing television. The beauty plastered on as bright a smile as she could as she made to open the door. "Can I help—_eek!_" Belle shrieked as two strong, muscled arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. She grabbed the doorframe before she could be pulled out of the house completely, her foot kicking out instinctively, her eyes narrowing into tiny slits as she turned her face up to glare at her attacker.

Who she saw was quite possibly the _last _person she expected.

"Gaston?!" she yelped, struggling harder.

"Belle," he said, sighing in relief, pulling her closer than the former princess would have liked, "You have no idea how happy I am to see you. When I heard that that _monster_ still had you captive, your father bade me to come rescue you—"

"He _what_?" Any redemption for her father was immediately shot to hell, Belle decided, her blood boiling at the mere thought. When she said she never wanted to see him again, that included any lackeys he tried to send to change her mind.

Belle looked up at her ex-fiancé. "Gaston, Rumpelstiltskin is _not _holding me captive, trust me."

"Maurice had warned me you'd say that," Gaston said, clicking his tongue sadly. "The bewitchment must be more powerful than he thought—"

"Belle?" a small, curious voice asked, just beyond the threshold. Belle couldn't turn her head, she was pressed too close to Gaston's chest, inhaling the disgusting cologne that was so heavy she was sure he'd _bathed _in it.

"Ah," Gaston said knowingly, his eyes locked on little Baelfire, just over Belle's shoulder. "So, this must be the boy the whole town speaks of. Baelfire, is it? Poor boy, your mother must be worried sick. Fear not, the monstrous Dark One who whisked you away from your home will soon be slain, and you will be returned to your rightful family—"

There was a pause, and in Belle's mind's eye, she could just picture what Bae was doing. She could picture his shoulders tensing, his whole body going ridged, his eyes narrowing at the words "mother" and "monstrous". "What did you say?" the boy growled, and though Belle couldn't see him, she could sure as hell _hear _his resemblance to Rumpel in that one moment.

Gaston blinked dumbly, like some huge, stupid ape. "Are you hard of hearing? I said—"

"Bae, get Rum!" Belle gasped, having finally been choked by the unholy smell of Gaston's cologne. "_Now_!"

"Hey, no—_get back here_!" Gaston roared. There was a scuffle, and although Gaston was large and strong, Bae was small and very quick, a trait he shared with Rumpelstiltskin. The fourteen year old scrambled away from the entryway, through the living room, and up the stairs before Gaston had even taken five, lumbering steps.

Belle had managed to wrench herself free by now. Gaston was still focused on the door Bae had disappeared through, and she took that moment to take advantage of his unprotected back. Grabbing a vase that had been sitting on one of the entryway tables, she took a hard swing at the back of his head.

Gaston gave a little grunt, his empty brown eyes rolling into the back of his head before he fell forward with a dull _thump _against the carpet. Belle breathed heavily, glaring down at her ex-fiancé's prostrate body.

"Never could take no for an answer," she muttered under her breath. She stood there for a minute, just staring at the limp, unmoving body of the ex-knight, wondering just what to do next. The adrenaline was wearing off, replaced by something akin to tiredness.

God, was she tired.

The stamping of feet broke her out of her stupor. Belle blinked, looking up the stairs. She could hear Bae's voice; "—and then Belle told me to get you, and—" the boy paused when he reached the last stair, eyes widening at the sight of Belle's attacker lying limp on the ground.

"And, apparently, she knocked him unconscious," Gold finished, looking just as astonished as his son, but also extremely impressed. He nudged the other man with his cane, just enough to get a good look at his face. Gaston groaned.

"Is that your ex-fiancé, dearie? What was his name? Gregory? Gareth? Galen—"

"Gaston," Belle giggled.

"Right, muscles-for-brains, from the movie you made me watch."

"What?" Bae asked, looking from his father to Belle, and back again.

"He's no one, Bae," Belle sighed. "Just an old acquaintance, I suppose. He wanted to take me back to my father. I made it clear no one decides my fate but me." She yawned. "Now, if you'll excuse me, _I'm _going back to bed." She smiled warmly at the two before stepping over Gaston's body and making her way up the stairs.

The two males watched her go, and it wasn't until they heard the bedroom door shut that Rumpelstiltskin decided to speak again. He turned to his son.

"Let this be a teaching moment. This, Bae—" he gestured to Gaston's unmoving form, "—is exactly why you never want to get on a woman's bad side—_especially _not Belle's."

* * *

**Don't worry, the next _Little Lion Man_-verse fic I do will feature Milah! And possibly some Belle-whoops-her-ass-scenes ;) **

**Please review!**


	13. Princess of Sapphires and Gold

**Summary: **In which Belle is kidnapped by an evil fey.

**Just… don't ask about where this came from, lol. It's completely random, and stemmed from some weird mix of _The Iron Fey _seriesby Julie Kagawa, and _Grimm's the 12 Dancing Princesses_. You don't have to have read the _Iron Fey _series to understand this fic, though. Here's one term, though, that you may or may not know:**

**Phouka—basically, a shape shifting fey that look mortal, other than furred ears or appendages usually found on animals.**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing!

* * *

**_Princess of Sapphires and Gold_**

Belle wasn't a stupid girl.

Far from it.

She knew the dangers magic could pull you into. She'd been on the wrong end of one too many enchantments for her _not _to know. She knew that having creepy yellow eyes stare at you from behind a wardrobe door in one of your master's many trophy room wasn't normal, either.

Belle knew these things, but that didn't stop her from stepping towards the manic yellow eyes. The owner of those eyes made a loud, grating noise, somewhere between a hiss and a giggle. Belle stopped.

_"Come with me," _the person, or creature, or whatever was lurking in those shadows, sing-songed in a high, sweet voice, _"Come with me little girl… come with me and I can show you a world. A world where your dreams come true; a world where your sky is always blue."_

Belle giggled at the creature's odd way of speaking, almost like a song, but not quite. The creature, seeing that it had captured the caretaker'sattention, continued with its little song, beckoning her to come closer with its voice.

_"A place safer than here, where I can banish your every fear. A place where you can dance until you fall down, a place where you will never frown…" _the lyrics, by themselves, might have been silly. But to Belle, they were merely entrancing. She stepped closer and closer, listening to the charming little song.

And then the creature let out a high-pitched squeal, one that sounded more animal than human. Belle gasped as a girl, no older than fifteen, sprung from the wardrobe, wrapping a clawed hand around her mouth. Belle couldn't struggle; she could barely breathe, looking into her attacker's strange gold eyes.

The girl was very pretty, Belle thought, if one could get over how odd she looked. Cat ears poked out of her head, the same shade of burgundy as the hair tumbling down her back. Her eyes changed from gold to green, and she trembled with excitement. A long, sleek, catlike tail swished back and forth behind her, and she was dressed oddly—in dark blue trousers, and an odd black shirt with a very low neckline. Too low to be decent.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?" the girl hissed, low as a snake, before snickering and pulling Belle forward, through the wardrobe.

Belle gasped at the rush of darkness, thinking they'd just hit the back of the wardrobe and that would be that. Her eyes widened, however, when the floor dropped out from under her and that darkness turned to nothing, nothing at all.

Nobody had ever told her that darkness and nothingness would be that different.

* * *

Belle 'oomphed' as she was thrown onto a hard marble floor.

"I couldn't find you the Dark One," the girl who'd kidnapped her was saying, nearly bouncing up and down with excitement, "But he had this—this girl—walkin' around his castle—yup, yup, cleaning. A caretaker, I guess. Real pretty, though, huh, Rayne? Real pretty. She'll do for you, right? She'll do for you?" The girl was talking so fast Belle wasn't sure what he was saying.

"Phouka," a man's voice said, exasperated and soft. Belle stiffened at the sound. "Be gone."

"Are you happy, though, Rayne?"

Belle heard the faintest hint of a smile in the man's voice. "Very happy, Jadae. Now leave. I want to examine my new pet."

_Pet? _Belle growled inwardly, as the girl—Jadae, that was her name, wasn't it?—scurried away, in the other direction. The former princess barely had time to realize what was happening before she was being helped to her feet.

Belle looked up; ready to bombard whoever it was with a series of questions. All her breath, however, was knocked out of her the second she took the man's facial features in.

He was beautiful. And not in the traditional, 'oh, he's so handsome like Gaston'-way, but in a more revolting, hideous way. Belle couldn't describe it, but his beauty was ethereal and unsettling. Inhuman. Like a walking, talking, breathing statue. His hair was so blond it was nearly silver when it shimmered against the light filtering high above, and his eyes were a deep, icy, steely blue, nearly matching her own.

He smiled, and it was the single most gorgeous—and frightening—thing Belle had ever seen.

"Hello, sweetling," he cooed in a voice that washed over her like warm water. She shivered. "What is your name?" His hand brushed her cheek, and she froze, too shocked to shy away.

"Belle," she said before she could really string any coherent thoughts together. "My name is Belle."

"Belle," he said, testing her name on his tongue. He watched her closely, carefully. And then his smile widened, and he tipped her head up with one of his—ever so graceful, spindly, elegant—fingers. "Would you like to stay with me, Belle? Away from that drab old estate of grouchy old Rumpelstiltskin's? Would you like to stay here with me, in my palace? Would you like to dance for me?"

Belle couldn't think. Some distant part of her, the part of her that was still slightly coherent, moaned no. Rumpelstiltskin, it begged, begged her to remember she still had someone else, in another world. Rumpelstiltskin. Rumpelstiltskin.

_You need to get back to Rumpelstiltskin, _her mind begged. Her mind begged with her, screamed at her, but on the outside, she smiled. "I'd like that very much."

_No!_

"Very good," Rayne said, snapping her fingers. Her blue dress transformed into a beautiful ball gown, embroidered with sapphires and gilded in gold. A gown truly fit for a princess. His smile widened as Belle took her place in the middle of the ballroom, the eleven other mortal girls he'd acquired over the past century taking their places around her. They began to dance, spin, twirl—and he watched, and he smiled.

It was so easy, controlling their simple minds.

"Twelve dancing princesses," Jadae mused, coming up from behind him, watching the girls with her own gleaming eyes.

"How original."

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin had been gone all day on a… business venture, or so he'd told Belle. He'd been home from said venture for only twenty or so minutes when he heard the noise. It wasn't anything any normal human would've picked up on, the faint _scratch-scratch _of something happening a few corridors down from the main hall, where he was spinning.

But Rumpelstiltskin wasn't a normal human.

He was the Dark One.

Rum frowned and stood. What was Belle up to now? He followed the noise through the twisting, winding corridors of the Dark Castle, until he was standing outside his bedroom door. Disappointment, distrust, and paranoia all came to a head in that one second, converging into one to become anger. He growled.

He'd specifically told the girl to stay _out _of his chambers, that they hadn't needed cleaning—or, well, not as much of the rest of the castle, anyway. He'd foolishly taken her word, believed her when she said she wouldn't.

And here she was, breaking one of the only rules he'd set for her.

Willing his magic _not _to come to his fingertips—he wouldn't harm her, couldn't harm her. She was only one foolish mortal, after all. A good yelling would be just fine—he pushed open his chamber doors.

What he saw inside was most definitely not Belle.

A large cat lounged on his bed, wispy gray fur shedding all over his golden sheets. A large plumed tale flicked back and forth lazily, as the demented beast took it's sweet time dragging one sharp claw over an _extremely _demolished bedpost.

Rumpelstiltskin recognized the creature at once. An annoyance from the fey world, the NeverNever, one he'd had the displeasure with dealing once or twice or a dozen times over the past few centuries. "Grimalkin," the imp hissed, his eyes narrowing.

"Rumpelstiltskin," Grimalkin said, drawing the Dark One's name out slowly. The cat was a nuisance, and not unlike Rumpelstiltskin. Sort of the NeverNever's version of Rum, other than the fact he held little magic—and if he did, he rarely used it. What Grimalkin did possess, however, was a cunning and mysterious brilliance that rivaled even the devious imp's.

"What are you doing here, _caith sith_?"

Grimalkin stared up at the Dark One with unblinking yellow eyes. "Tsk, tsk. I'd think you'd be a little more warm towards me, Rumple. I, after all, know where your newest bauble lies."

The cat loved speaking in riddles. Rumpelstiltskin felt his heart skip a couple beats, and he scrambled to make sure the last thing he'd dealt for—a seashell necklace—was still safely around his neck.

Grimalkin snorted—well, as much as a cat _could _snort, anyway—and stood. "Not your seashell, you materialistic buffoon, the _girl_. What was her name? Belle?" He jumped gracefully from the bed, waltzing over to Rumpelstiltskin's wardrobe, pushing the varnished oak open with his paw. "This wardrobe will take you to her. She's been kidnapped by a very unpleasant fey nobleman's pet phouka. I suggest you take her back before she makes a deal even _you _can't nullify."

Rumpelstiltskin blinked a few times in surprise at what he was hearing, before he ran forward and stopped the cat from going back through to the NeverNever. "Wait—what?"

"The princess. The one that's in love with you?" Grimalkin scoffed and sniffed his tail. "Yes, she's been kidnapped. Rayne always did love the pretty little things—"

Rumpelstiltskin growled and was out of the room and bounding through the wardrobe before Grimalkin could even finished his sentence. The caith sith licked his paw nonchalantly, looking through the door where the Dark One had just disappeared.

"Always was impatient, he was."

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin landed in a magnificent-looking ballroom, made entirely of marble. He hissed at the bite of cold that washed over him. As the Dark One, he usually wasn't so sensitive to weather. Not the natural kind, anyway.

Fey weather was something else entirely.

This wasn't your average midwinter chill, either. This was the kind of cold that seeped through you, through your bones, to your soul and whatever lay underneath. This was the cold of the Unseelie Court, of the Winter Worlds, where everything was dead and gray and blanketed with powdery, white, never-melting snow.

He took a few tentative steps forward, magicking warmth back into his body. He heard the music before he saw the dancers; graceful, enchanting music spun entirely from a magician (or fairy) with entirely too much time on their hands.

Twelve girls twirled individually in the middle of the grand ballroom, each in a different color. There was a pretty blond wearing pink, an almond-eyed brunette decked in purple, a redhead dressed in green. They all spun and twirled in a beautiful dance, and it took Rum a moment to find the girl he was looking for.

He felt the breath get knocked out of him, as if someone had punched him.

She was gorgeous. He'd never used the word to describe anyone before, but he couldn't deny this—she was _stunning_. Gorgeous, beautiful, magnificent, any adjective of that nature would do. Her hair moved with her, tantalizing waves tumbling down her milky white, exposed shoulders. Her dress was made of sapphires and gilded and gold. She looked amazing.

_I could make her a thousand dresses just like that if she wanted, _Rumpelstiltskin thought, but was immediately thrown from his inner musings when she lifted her head and he saw her eyes. Dark, hazy, the fire inside muted and the sparkle dulled.

A trance, then. A simple glamour, a hypnotizing spell. Easy enough to break, he supposed. But the thought that anyone could think to dull that fire made his blood burn.

Whatever fairy thought to do this, he'd make them pay.

He stepped forward before he even knew what he was doing. His eyes flickered to the throne sitting on a pedestal before him and before the dancers. A man—a fey, a sidhe—sat with his legs crossed on the throne. A girl, the phouka Grimalkin had mentioned, was draped over him.

The phouka girl hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. "Rumpelstiltskin."

He recognized her from her voice, though the last time he'd seen her she'd been traipsing around the Seelie Court and the Summer Kingdom, working for the fairy king Oberon and his troublesome wife Titania. "Jadae," he said stiffly. His eyes flickered over to the nobleman, her master. This fey, too, he recognized. "Rayne."

They'd made a deal once, long ago, too long ago to matter anymore. Rayne smiled. It was gentle and cold and Rum scowled. "Rumpelstiltskin, lovely," he clapped his hands together and stood gracefully, "I've been looking for you. I have a deal to discuss. I had Jadae cross over to your realm—very messy thing to do, you know, what with Mab watching my affairs oh-so-closely—to try and convince you to come over. But I'm afraid my pet, as precious as she is, is infinitely impatient, and took your girl instead." He gestured to Belle, who was still twirling away, oblivious to what was happening.

"I'm well aware," Rumpelstiltskin said through grit teeth. "And I'm here to take her back."

"Oh-ho," Rayne chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh no, isn't it you who always says, _it's never something for nothing_? I have my price, should you want your girl. All you have to do is pay it."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes narrowed. You could just leave her, the Dark One hissed in his ear, you could just leave her here. She'd never know what was happening to her. You could slink away, and she could stay here, oblivious until her heart stops beating and she dances herself to death…

Rum startled, horrified he'd even _begun _to think that. He looked up at the fey, his lips lifting in a snarl. He lifted a hand, purple light shining from the tips of his fingers. He made a flourish, and Rayne choked, his hands coming up to scrabble for the invisible noose.

Jadae's eyes widened at the display, and she scrambled backwards, giving a light squeak and running in the other direction. Rum snorted. Phoukas. All talk and no play.

"I'm in no mood for games. And I'm _especially _not in the mood to _deal_ with _you_. In case you've forgotten, my dear Sir Rayne, you _stole _my girl from the Dark Castle. Do you really think I'm so stupid, to buy back what was stolen from me?" His hand curled into a fist, and Rayne made a choking noise, his pale face turning from red to purple.

"O-of c-course not," the fey nobleman stuttered, and Rumpelstiltskin smiled, letting his hand drop free. Rayne fell to the ground, taking grateful gulps of air in. Fey were near-indestructible, but a little dose of magic from the Dark One's fingertips had them trembling or floundering. Kind of like how fairy dust stung like a bitch for him. It seemed to be an equal trade.

Rayne snapped his fingertips and Belle stopped dancing, falling to the ground, unconscious. "There. Take her."

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, walking over to where Belle was crumpled on the ground. The other girls danced and twirled around them, oblivious that one of them had fallen. He hoisted his caretaker into his arms, debating on whether or not he should just lock her up in the dungeon when he was away or something.

She seemed to be getting into a lot of trouble.

* * *

Belle woke up to the sound of a crackling fire. She jerked awake, blinking rapidly. She was on one of the sofas in the Dark Castle, a blanket draped over her. Tea and soup, both kept hot by magic, lay in wait on the floor beside her. She furrowed her brows and stared at the offering.

"Ah, you're awake already." Rumpelstiltskin's voice broke her out of her musings, and Belle looked up. Her employer was sitting at his spinning wheel, his golden-yellow eyes watching her intently. "I'd eat up if I were you, dearie. The Unseelie Court can be quite a chilly place."

Belle nodded. Indeed, it had been. She picked up the tray of food, sipping her tea slowly. The warmth seeped through her bones, and she sighed happily. "So… all that… wasn't just a dream?"

"I'm afraid not, dearie. You're lucky I came along."

Belle looked down, ashamed. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" But Rumpelstiltskin was already waving her away, a small smile touching his lips.

"Don't even worry about it. Phoukas are nasty little things, with tempers as short as a mouse hair. They may seem entrancing, maybe even cute at first, but they're little beasts when it gets right down to it. Anyone would've fallen for it." He was actually defending her choices.

Belle blinked. "What—what did they want me for?"

"What do they ever want mortals for?" Rum shook his head. "Scullery maids, sex, living trophies, you name it. The fey can be sick when it comes to humans. I know of one instance where a fey princess spirited away a man from his wife because she was jealous."

Belle's heart clenched. "What happened?"

Rum shrugged. "Well, time works differently in the fey world than it does in any other world. Six months in the NeverNever was sixty years in his land. By the time the fey got bored with him, his wife was an old woman." He paused, going back to his spinning. "He found her, of course. They died that night. In each other's arms. Some say because their broken hearts were finally repaired, and they could finally rest." He seemed to want to snort at the prospect.

Belle was silent for a long time. "That's so sad."

Rum shrugged. "They were together. At least he remembered her. He was still young; he could have gone off, explored the world, found another happy after."

"But if he truly loved her, why would he do that? You can't just forget the person you love." The room became silent once more, the only noise being the creak of the spinning wheel and the crackle of the fire. "Would you have done that, if I'd have never come back? Would you have forgotten me?"

The words are laced with so much worry, so much hurt, it startles them both. Belle isn't sure what possessed her to ask that. Of course he wouldn't remember her! She was only his caretaker; one of what was probably many, and what would probably be many more. She was stupid, to ask that, to even think he would—

"No."

Belle looked up at him. He was staring at the fire, now, his eyes masked over with something she couldn't place. "No, I wouldn't forget you."

Belle's lips parted. She wanted to say something else, to fill up the silence that had once again settled. But she couldn't find any _right _words, so she just settled for, "Good. Because I wouldn't, either." It was the truth, after all.

How could she forget?

He was the man she loved.

* * *

**A/N: Hmm. Yeah. So, this is kind of the moment she figured out she was in love with him. Also, the story about the married man being whisked away by the fey is a story in one of the _Iron Fey_ books, but I don't know which one, lol. I think _The Iron Daughter_, but I'm not sure. Anyway, I hope you guys liked it!**


	14. Red Velvet

**Summary: **It's Mr. Gold's birthday.

**Yes, another lost snippet from _Over the Hills and Far Away_. Again, you don't have to read that to understand this. All you need to know is that "Gabbe/Gabriella" is Belle's Storybrooke persona, and she works for Mr. Gold.**

**Also, I just wanna say thanks to everyone who reviewed! I know I don't always reply to your reviews and I'm sorry about that. I just wanted to let y'all know I really appreciate the feedback! (:**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own OUAT!

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**_Red Velvet_**

The door to the pawnshop slammed open.

Gold's head jerked up, his eyes wide as his assistant, Gabriella French, waltzed inside. She had a pink cardboard box in one hand, and in the other, a bouquet of balloons. Her eyes were narrowed and she looked—for lack of a better term—extremely pissed off.

"You!" she said, jerking an accusing finger at him as she made her way towards him, her Converse squeaking against the hardwood floor. The balloons jostled in her iron grip.

"Me?" Gold responded, unsure of what else to say.

"You are a horrible rotten person and you're going to hell," Gabbe said, her lips pulling into one of the cutest pouts Gold had ever seen.

The pawnbroker smiled. "Well, I already knew that, dearie. But I'll humor you. Why are you saying all these terrible things to my face?"

"Because you didn't tell me it was your birthday so I couldn't get you anything and I had to settle for these crappy last-minute gifts." She waved the balloon bouquet around before slamming the pink cardboard box down on the countertop.

Gold's eyes drifted from the balloons to the box, which he'd finally recognized from Patty Cake Bakery, down the road. "It had better not be crappy. This place charges an arm and a leg for one cookie." he chuckled, lifting the lid of the box with the pen he'd been holding. Two red velvet cupcakes stared back at him. The buttercream frosting resting on top had remained miraculously untouched, even though Gabbe had practically throttled the box to near-death.

He smiled. "Red velvet?"

"You didn't exactly seem like the _vanilla _or _chocolate _type," she said dryly. His smile widened at the familiarity of the words, echoed from a conversation they'd had weeks earlier, about how he'd taken his coffee.

He snorted, swiping a dollop of buttercream onto his finger before licking it. The taste was sweet and strong, and he couldn't expect less from Storybrooke's best bakery. He made a noise of appreciation, before taking the cupcake and working on the frosting.

"You didn't have to do this, dearie."

"Don't call me that," she warned, her eyes narrowing as she grabbed the second cupcake. She hated it when he called her dearie. He called everyone dearie. It made her feel like she was just another person to him—which, by the way, she was trying very hard _not _to be. He'd been labeled "the town menace" for as long as Gabbe could remember, but she could see underneath his frigid outer layer. He thought himself a monster, and she'd made it her personal mission to prove him wrong. They'd barely grazed the surface of _friends_, but she saw it as a start. Hearing him call her dearie made her feel like he was pushing her away.

"Sorry, _Miss French_." He licked some more buttercream off his fingertips, struggling to try and look dignified while he ate his birthday cupcake. "But really, you didn't have to. How did you even know?"

Gabbe grinned, proud of herself. "I know everyone's birthday. My best friend is Ruby Lucas. Do not underestimate me, Gold." She winked. "And of course I had to." She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He chuckled. "Actually, no, you didn't. I haven't celebrated my birthday in years."

Gabbe looked up from her cupcake, her eyes wide. A little smear of frosting lingered by her lips, which were currently parted in surprise. "You—you don't celebrate it?"

"Can't say I do."

"But—" she was floored; utterly shocked that anyone would do such a thing. Gabbe had always been the type of person who made a big deal out of her own birthday, and everyone else's. To hear that someone barely acknowledged theirs was staggering. "But—well, when was the last time you celebrated it?"

Gold paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You know, I can't remember. But it's been a while."

So much a while he couldn't even remember? "_Damn_," Gabbe exclaimed, shaking her head. "Well, this is what I'd call an emergency. Thank goodness for Ruby and her extensive knowledge on Storybrooke's residents, however creepy and stalkerish it may be." She handed him the balloon bouquet over the counter, which he took with a small smile. He hated people making a fuss over his birthday when he was younger (not that many people were really _willing _to make a fuss over it) but he couldn't deny he was grateful, if a little shocked.

They finished their cupcakes in silence. "I'll just… get to work, then." Gabbe said when they were done. She grabbed the pink cardboard box and threw the two leftover cupcake wrappers inside, tossing them into the trash bin.

"Right," Gold said, clearing his throat, the bliss of the early-morning surprise wearing off a bit. Now, it was back to work, and back to their everyday routine.

She smiled at him, showing off a bit of buttercream frosting she'd missed in her haste to clear everything off his counter. He chuckled, motioning to her face. "Uh, you've got a bit—"

"Oh," she giggled, making a swipe at her lips. She missed.

"No, it's—um… a little to the left—"

"Like this?" she swiped again, glancing at her fingers. Nothing. She frowned.

"Here—" Gold grabbed a tissue from the box he always kept on his desk, reaching over the counter to wipe the corner of her mouth. She stood stock still as he wiped away the buttercream, their eyes locked. Hers looked ready to flutter shut at any time.

They stared at each other for a moment, something like electricity sparking between them. He licked his lips, and she tilted her head up slightly, her eyes half-lidded. Like she was expecting something.

Like a kiss.

He jerked away. No, no, that couldn't possibly be it. "Got it," he said, his voice oddly hoarse.

Her eyes returned to normal, focusing on him. Disappointment flashed across her features. Or maybe he just wanted to believe it was disappointment. She smiled at him; it was awkward and tight, almost embarrassed. "Uh, thank you." She paused for a moment, biting her lip in contemplation, before surging over the countertop and kissing his cheek. His stubble was rough against her soft lips, such a delightful contrast it sent shivers up his spine.

She pulled away, a delighted grin pulling her lips up. "Happy birthday." And with that, she skipped away from him and into the back room, to finish cataloguing items from the day before.

Gold touched his cheek and smiled.

Happy birthday, indeed.

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**A/N: It was my friend's birthday a couple of days ago, and I guess that partially inspired this. The red velvet cupcake thing? Idk, I just love red velvet.**


	15. Angry Birds

**Summary: **Belle and Gold's iPhone.

**Alright, so this is the beginning of a series suggested by the amazing **_Twyla Mercedes_**, in which Belle gets into trouble with modern-day electronics and so on. The writers of Once have said quite a few times that Belle has issues with modern-day objects (most notably, a parking meter, which we have yet to see). So… yeah. You'll see her get into scuffs with technology in these.**

**ALSO, I am psyched. You know why? Because the episode after "The Cricket Game" ("The Outsider") is supposedly Belle-centered. Do you know how long I've waited for an episode centering around her? A long time. She's like my favorite character, next to Rum. And Emma. And August. And Ruby. AHHH, I can't wait xD**

**Anyway, this takes place sometime during "We Are Both". Belle is pretty much sitting around the house playing Angry Birds while Gold is out giving Regina spellbooks and smashing display cases.**

**I sure am cranking out these oneshots a lot lately, aren't I? Well, maybe not. But more so than normal.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own OUAT.

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**_Angry Birds_**

Rum had called it an "iPhone". A stupendous device that allowed you to talk to people, listen to music, and send them short letters called "text messages". There were other functions, Rum had so patiently explained, but that was the gist of it.

Belle turned the small, rectangular device over in her hands. It was hard to believe so much could be packed into such a small device. "Is it magic?" she murmured, giving him a suspicious look. It was no secret that magic was a touchy subject between the couple, since what the town had so quaintly dubbed "the wraith incident", in which Queen Snow White and Princess Emma, the savior, had disappeared.

Oh yeah, she'd given him hell for that.

Rum chuckled. "No, not magic. Technology." He pressed the button in the middle of the screen, slid his finger across a little button that said, "Slide to Unlock", and punched in a series of numbers. She watched with wide eyes as the screen opened up to her, filled with little boxes with the oddest names… _Cut the Rope, Temple Run, Calculator, YouTube_… Belle found it enthralling.

"How odd," the beauty said delightedly, clapping her hands together. Rum chuckled, glad his love found it so interesting. "But…" she squinted at one of the little boxes, called "apps", or so Rumple had explained, "Why are the birds angry?"

Rum outright laughed at that, shaking his head as he opened the game. "They aren't actual birds, Belle. It's a game." He demonstrated the fine points of the mind-numbing game, downloaded only when Rum got decidedly bored in the pawnshop waiting for Emma whenever she decided she needed his help, in the early days of the reawakening of his memories.

Belle's eyes widened when she saw the birds launch themselves at the pigs and the glass. "Oh, that must really hurt."

"The pigs stole their eggs; I don't really think they care about that."

Belle watched as one of the pigs fell from his perch atop a cliff, _poofing _into nonexistence. She smiled. "Well, then, I guess it serves them right."

Rumpelstiltskin laughed again and handed her the phone. "Why don't you play for a bit? I need to head back to the shop."

Belle nodded, taking the device without thought, eyes wide as she set out to destroy the little green pigs.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin arrived home hours before the pawnshop was scheduled to close.

He'd long gotten past his anger at not being able to cross the border—who could he be angry at? Charming? The prince was a mere messenger, and Rum was not so hostile as to shoot him. The anger was long gone.

No, all Rumpelstiltskin felt now was numb.

He shuffled into the living room, completely ready to down a bottle of whiskey, and then maybe hide himself away in his basement, looking for a way to solve this problem.

_You have no one to blame but yourself._

He ran a hand over his face. He was finally feeling those three hundred years hanging on his shoulders.

"Rumpelstiltskin? Are you all right?"

Rum started at the sound of the voice, slicing through the silence. He'd almost forgotten Belle was here—almost managed to convince himself that the past seventy two hours had just been a dream. Some wild, beautiful, wonderfully vivid dream.

He turned to look at her, to assure her that he was, in fact, fine, but stopped short when he saw what was sprawled on the coffee table. His phone—his poor, poor phone—had been dismantled into countless little bits and pieces, sprawled on the glass tabletop. Belle was looking at him innocently enough, her blue eyes wide and unblinking.

"Belle." He stared at the mess, not quite sure what to make of the situation. What had possessed…? Oh, he supposed it didn't matter—he could always buy another one, of course—but what had _driven _her to do it was a question he'd rather like answered.

She noticed where his eyes were glued, and she flushed, biting her lip. Gods, why did she have to look so cute? "Oh, well—it went dark, all of a sudden. I thought I could maybe fix it?" She looked like a puppy that fully expected to be hit for teething on her master's slippers.

Rum chuckled, and shook his head. "It probably needed to be charged."

"What?" she sounded so confused. On one hand, it infuriated him to think about why she was so clueless—that she'd spent the better part of thirty years locked away in an asylum; on the other hand, he loved the innocently curious look she had on her face. It reminded him of simpler days, when he was a beast and she was his beauty, awed and amazed by every magical bauble that found its way into their castle.

"The phone. The battery doesn't last forever, darling. Sometimes it needs to be charged." Looking at the damage up close, he realized she didn't destroy the entire thing after all. Just shook the battery around a bit. He put everything back in its original place, screwed the back shut, snapped the casing back on, and plugged the phone into the charger that was hooked up to the wall by the lamp desk.

She watched in fascination as the screen lit up again, a little rectangle with a sliver of red appearing against the black screen. "Magic," she concluded with a small smile.

"This world's version of it," he conceded, settling beside her on the couch.

"I'm sorry I almost destroyed your phone."

"I can always buy another one, if you ever do. Speaking of which…" he looked at her suggestively, his eyebrows waggling.

Belle giggled and slapped him in the chest with one of the couch pillows. "No way! I'm perfectly content with that… what did you call it? Landline?" She shook her head. "It's simpler than that thing, anyway. And besides, I don't exactly have anyone to call. Except for you, that is." She snuggled close to him, grinning sheepishly. She was still embarrassed about her little slip-up.

Rum sighed, enjoying this closeness, threading his fingers through her silky, curly hair. "Hopefully that will change," he murmured, almost reluctantly. He was overprotective, some would argue possessive; that was true. But he loved Belle, and he knew how much she loved to socialize. Relationships involved sacrifice, didn't they? Like a good deal, he supposed.

"Maybe one day," Belle replied after a minute, "But not anytime soon."

"Really?"

She shrugged. "I'm not… ready to go exploring just yet. It's kind of…"

"Overwhelming?"

She paused. "Yes, overwhelming." That was the best thing to call it at the moment, anyway. She yawned. "Maybe tomorrow you can teach me about that thing." She pointed to the television, mounted on the wall in the far corner.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned. "A television, sweetheart," he offered, holding her tight against him.

"A television," she repeated, rolling the word around on her tongue. "What does it do?"

"Well, it projects things called "movies" and "television shows". Sort of like books, only you can see what the characters are doing." It was the best way to describe it, and she was immediately receptive.

Belle's eyes lit up, but she still seemed tired. "Really?" The word came out in a yawn, her eyes squeezing shut and staying shut as she snuggled into him.

He shrugged. "Sort of." He readjusted themselves, so she fit comfortably against him. Within minutes, she was off to dreamland, snoring softly. He smiled. The position they were in would give his knee hell in the morning, but right then, he couldn't care less.

He began to doze off himself, nearly forgetting about his newfound knowledge. The town border, a voice that sounded eerily like Baelfire cooed before he could drift off completely.

Yes, something had to be done about that damnable curse. It required powerful spellwork, and would almost surely drain him, but he was confident he might be able to find a way. He knew the overabundance of magic entering the house wouldn't please Belle. No, wouldn't please he at all. He'd have to find a quiet workspace—

The basement, maybe? He could work on the spell while she was asleep. Then no one would have to get hurt, no one would have to know. And then he could find Bae.

And then everything would be okay.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, and followed his love into dreamland. Bae, Belle, a life back at the Dark Castle.

It sounded lovely.

* * *

**I was planning on making this funny, but it ended up just being fluffy. That doesn't mean I'm not happy with it x) Belle playing Angry Birds. I'd love to see that. Anyway, I'm thinking maybe next time Belle can get in a scuff with that infamous parking meter. Or perhaps the library's computer system. Idk. **


	16. Wonderful Christmastime

**Summary: **This had to be Rumpelstiltskin's favorite Christmas yet.

**I know I said the next "Little Lion Man"-verse fic would feature Milah, but with the impending holidays, I couldn't deny myself a fluffy little Rumbelle Christmas drabble.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

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**_Wonderful Christmastime_**

Christmas. Once upon a time, it had been Rumpelstiltskin's least favorite time of the year. In Storybrooke, it had been lonely and cold, and he'd always been the stereotypical Scrooge of the town. For twenty-eight years it had been like that, just another night full of chilly, icy cold and a dark house.

In the Old World, before the Dark One and the ogre wars, it meant trying to stay alive in the dead of winter, trying to keep some sort of food on the table for him and his family.

After losing Bae, it meant yuletide feasts and celebrations coming from the village below the Dark Castle, something a lonely old Grinch such as himself highly disapproved of. During Belle's stay, it had been slightly warmer. For days, the castle had smelled of wild turkey and the fruity scent of a traditional Avonlean sweet-cake, which just ended up being a chocolate cake topped with some sort of wildberry icing. Winter with Belle meant candles and nights spent by a fire and watching the snow. It meant bliss.

That had been wonderful, Rumpelstiltskin knew, but he had to admit; Christmas in Storybrooke, post-curse, would be his favorite yet. He had his son, and he had Belle, and those were two people he'd gladly endure glorified holiday hell for. That was exactly why he was currently ignoring annoying Christmas carols wafting from Belle's iPod (he cursed the day he decided to buy the contraption for her, he really did) and watching on as his son and his girlfriend wrestled Christmas lights onto their six-foot-tall tree.

"I think they go over there, Bae—"

"No, they're supposed to wrap around the tree, like this—"

Rum smirked. "Are you sure you two don't need my help?"

"No!" They shouted in unison. Rum snickered. Stubborn as mules, they were.

"We're fine, Rum, really," Belle said, casting an assured grin over her shoulder. "If we could just get this thing over—aha! There we go!" She smiled and crossed her arms, leaning back to admire their handiwork. The lights were lopsided, a majority of the gold-and-blue bulbs concentrated on one side as opposed to the other, but Rum had to admit, it was pretty.

"It's beautiful, dearie." Rumpelstiltskin said, meaning it truthfully. However lopsided and thrown-together it may have been, what with the handmade ornaments from Belle's "childhood" here in Storybrooke to the more conventional, antique ornaments Rum had found lying around the shop, to the ornaments Belle had helped Bae make last minute, it was still beautiful in its own right.

"I think it's lopsided," Bae commented, but he was grinning.

"I think it's great. A little bit of everyone," Belle continued, tapping a sparkly gold ornament that she knew Rum had picked out. She caught sight of the time, blinking in green block numbers on the digital clock on a table a few feet away. She made a show of gasping. "Bae, you should get to bed. It's almost eleven. Santa will be here soon."

Bae, who was completely aware that Santa Clause didn't exist in this world—or, maybe he did, but considering he was probably trapped in Storybrooke like the rest of them, probably wouldn't be delivering presents anytime soon—grinned and nodded. "Oh, yeah—I'd better get to bed. Night, Papa. Night, Belle."

"Night, Bae," Belle and Rum said in unison, watching as the fourteen-year-old climbed up the stairs to his bedroom.

As soon as he heard the door shut, Rum's arms wrapped around Belle's waist. "Did you just get rid of my son for the night?"

"Why, yes I did," Belle said, twisting her head to kiss him sweetly on the lips. "For the past two weeks, I've been at the library with Bae, testing new holiday diner items for Granny, out shopping with Ruby, batting away your crazy ex wife, or talking New Years' Eve plans with the Charmings. I've barely seen you, and we're sharing the same bed. I missed you."

He squeezed her tight to him. "I missed you, too." It was true; with all the huff and rush of the holidays and the looming threat of Cora and Hook, they'd both put their romantic relationship on hold. Despite living in the same space, all three of them—him, Belle, and Bae—had been wandering like ghosts.

They lapsed into a sweet, blissful silence, Rum looking out the window to the snow outside, Belle watching the lights on the Christmas tree twinkle and shine. "You know, I can't remember any other Christmases spent here."

Rum couldn't help but stiffen, falling back on the couch behind them. She settled comfortably in his lap, avoiding his bad knee. They didn't usually talk about her stay in the asylum—it brought up too many memories that were better left buried. She didn't bring it up, and he didn't question her about it. He didn't need to know if it was an awful experience, anyway. The many times she'd woken up in a cold sweat or the nights when she never went to sleep at all were answer enough.

"Hmm?" he asked, silently wondering if she'd elaborate. He didn't want her walking down a painful memory lane, but he couldn't deny the morbid curiosity her words had piqued.

"Mmm," she affirmed, "I remember… cold. Sometimes the nurse would give me extra blankets. But that was it. Sometimes I'd see ice coating my window, outside—it was too high for me to see through, but I saw the ice. That's how I knew it was winter. Somewhere, between spring and summer, I lost track of the days. When I was in the queen's castle…" she trailed away, biting her lip. "Well, then it just got cold. I kept tally marks on the wall, but after a while the lines just merged and I couldn't do anything but wait." Wait. Wait to be saved. Wait to be forgotten. Wait to live, wait to die.

Wait to fall asleep, only to wake up in a completely different dungeon.

He clutched her tighter. "I'm sorry," she said, and he could hear the sheepishness in her voice. She was embarrassed. "I completely put out the good mood."

He smiled. So considerate. "Not to worry, sweetheart. I probably would've done it sooner or later anyway."

She giggled, turning to face him. "Maybe," she said, "But there goes our romantic evening."

Rum snorted. "Hardly," he mumbled, pushing her off his lap and reaching for his cane. "Not many people know this, but I can turn any situation romantic." Alright, that was a blatant lie if he'd ever heard one, but she played along, a coy smile touching her petal pink lips.

"Oh, can you, now?"

"Actually, I can." He puffed out his chest importantly, making his way to the door that lead to the kitchen. "I can even turn us trading war stories over snickerdoodles romantic, if you'd like."

She outright laughed, bouncing up beside him to link her arm with his. "Oh, I think I'd like that very much." He didn't put on a show like this for anyone just to see them smile, and he knew the momentary foolishness he felt was well worth it when she smiled brilliantly.

He returned her smile with one of his own, small and gentle yet oh so genuine. "That's good to know, darling."

* * *

**What. Was. That. I'm not really sure. It started morphing into fluff, then had a dash of angst, then it kind of morphed back into fluff? Anyway. Rum felt kind of out of character, but I'm hoping I can get away with saying he was leaning more towards his Rumpelstiltskin-ness than his Gold-ness, and the spirit of the holidays getting to him. Ahem. **

**So, yeah. I'm planning one... maybe two more Christmas/holiday-y shots. So look out for those! (:**


	17. Under the Mistletoe

**Summary: **Gold and Gabbe get caught under the mistletoe.

**I'm thinking maybe I should just start doing an OTHAFA-verse shot for every major holiday. I really like this idea.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Once.

* * *

**_Under the Mistletoe_**

It had been Gabbe's idea to decorate the pawnshop in the spirit of the holidays. Under normal circumstances, Gold would have flat out refused the idea of Christmas lights or tinsel adorning his beloved shop's walls, but since Gabbe's employment, no circumstance had been "normal". The girl had taken him to a Halloween party and got him to celebrate his birthday; why would Christmas be any different?

He'd allowed, albeit begrudgingly, the horrifying holiday makeover to transpire and within three hours, the place had been decorated, top to bottom, with tinsel and lights and even a fake white tree huddling in one corner of the shop.

Not to mention, precariously placed smack dab in the middle of the store, was a sprig of mistletoe, hanging from the ceiling. Gold had avoided stepping under the dreaded thing for days, even though Gabbe unhurriedly walked back and forth in front, behind, and through the area in question. She'd seemed to have forgotten the little sprig of mistletoe, hidden away high above her, but not Gold. He eyed it like an enemy, morning, noon and night, from the time the shop opened to the time he closed it.

He would not go near it.

That is, until one fateful morning, a few days before Christmas, when he nearly tripped over a box during Gabbe's last-minute organizing before her three days off for Christmas.

"Oh, God," she hissed, watching him stumble. She slipped an arm around his waist, hoisting him up before he could fall flat on his bum. She smiled sheepishly. "I am so sorry, Mr. Gold. Are you hurt?"

_Nothing except my pride, _Gold thought, but smiled nonetheless. "I'm fine, thanks, Miss French." He straightened his tie, looking away awkwardly, trying to ignore the flowery smell of her perfume.

And that's when he saw the mistletoe, hanging right above them. Gold's eyes widened and he prayed she hadn't seen it, but when he looked back down at her, she was staring at it with a look like nervousness and… was that _eagerness_? No, it couldn't be. He must've been imagining it.

Gabbe bit her lip. "We… um…"

"We don't have to," Gold said hurriedly. The sprig of mistletoe was only there for the sake of the holidays; she probably hadn't expected any form of kissing to go on within the walls of the pawnshop. He would give her an out to this, because surely she wouldn't want to kiss an old Grinch such as himself.

Gabbe smiled and laughed nervously. "It's just a silly tradition. No harm, no foul."

"A-alright." Why was he feeling like a starstruck schoolboy? She was his employee; and worse than that, she was nearly twenty years younger than him. He gave her a half smile, before bending down and kissing the corner of her mouth unsurely.

When he pulled away, she looked—for lack of a better word—disappointed. The same look she had on her face during his birthday, when he'd wiped the buttercream off her lips. "Surely you can do better than that," she mumbled, grabbing him by the lapels of his suit jacket and pressing her lips to his.

Gold's eyes widened, and he made a little noise of shock and appreciation. Her hands were tangled in his soft, graying mane of hair, and her lips moved passionately against his. He felt himself begin to respond to her kiss, looping his arms around her waist, kissing her back with fervor.

Then reality caught back up with them when the door to the shop opened. He let her go immediately and she spun out of his grip, clearing her throat awkwardly. He turned away from her, and she resumed her cataloguing, as if nothing had transpired.

"Gold?" It was Mayor Mills, the wench. Gold scowled, mentally cursing the woman.

"Madame Mayor, what can I do for you?" he asked through tight lips, making his way behind the counter. The dark-haired mayor frowned, stalking up to him, going into detail about a particular deal that needed brokering. He nodded along to whatever she was saying, but his eyes were locked behind her, focused on his assistant.

Gabbe lifted her blue eyes. A small smile played on her lips, and her pale cheeks were flushed.

"Gold!"

"Huh?" the pawnbroker turned back to the mayor, who had a strange look on her face. Her eyes were wide and focused on his lips.

"Is that red lipstick smeared on your face?"

Gabriella howled in laughter.

* * *

**Alright, so yeah. And if you want to know, yes she did manipulate him to get that kiss. No, the box was not just lying there randomly, and no, she didn't just randomly put mistletoe in the middle of the shop. She's wanted that kiss since his birthday, and Gold is just too clueless to realize it xD **

**Anyway, I hope your holidays are amazing and full of awesomeness (:**


	18. Mother Lions

**Summary: **In which Milah shows up at the house while Rumple's away.

**Alright, so we've got "Little Lion Man" and now "Mother Lions". Maybe I should have a Rumple-centered one entitled "Lionheart"? Or something along those lines. Anyway, this takes place during "The Cricket Game", during that scene where Rumpelstiltskin smacks Hook across the face with his cane. I'm sorry Hook, I think you're beautiful, but YOU HAD THAT COMING, BITCH. Think of it as payback for what you did to Belle.**

**Also, speaking of Hook—in LLM, he still wants Rumple dead, but for different reasons. I'm not sure what those reasons are just yet, but I want to stick to canon as much as possible… so yeah.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything!

* * *

**_Mother Lions_**

_"I'm a mother lion and you can't defeat a mother lion when you've threatened her cubs." _[Nancy, Weeds]

There were strangers in Storybrooke; and not the good kind.

Rumpelstiltskin had told her to stay, and that he'd take control of the situation with Hook and Cora as soon as possible. He'd told her not to try and follow him, and although Belle wanted nothing more than to disobey and follow her true love into the fray, she knew she couldn't.

She had Baelfire to look after.

Belle sat at the kitchen table, trying not to worry. Rum had barely been gone thirty minutes, but she couldn't deny the anxiety that was clawing at her. He may have been the Dark One, but this Cora woman was supposedly immensely powerful—so powerful even Regina, Snow, and Emma, three of the strongest women Belle had ever met, was shaken. And Hook—Belle shuddered at the memory of the man. He wanted Rumpelstiltskin dead, gods only knew why.

Bae was watching television upstairs, relatively unaware of the damage Hook and Cora could and would do if they got into town. All Belle had told him was that the mayor and the Charmings needed help with something. While the boy seemed to know that it involved magic and couldn't possibly be good if he was teaming up with _Regina_, he also seemed to realize some things were better left unasked.

And now Belle was alone, in the kitchen, trying—and failing—to calm herself with a cup of chamomile tea while simultaneously trying not to think about what Rum could be doing—or who he could be killing.

Or who could be trying to kill _him_.

_Don't think about it, _Belle thought, squeezing her eyes shut and scrubbing her face with her hands. _Just don't think about it. He's Rum. He's Rumpelstiltskin. Of course he's okay; of course he's fine…_

Belle's eyes snapped open when she heard the sound of a lock clicking open. The front door. "Rum?" she whispered, shooting up out of the kitchen table. He'd barely been gone forty minutes, how was he back already—?

The beauty nearly ran to the entryway, ready to throw her arms around her true love and demand what happened, when she stopped. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the woman who'd entered, her lips lifting in a snarl.

"_You_."

Milah smiled. She and Belle had seen each other around town, eyeing each other like two lions, sizing each other up. Although they'd never talked face-to-face before, there was an obvious, mutual dislike the entire town pretty much knew about. "I saw Rumpelstiltskin fighting Killian, back at the harbor." The woman sighed and shook her head. "I'd overheard him telling the savior—Emma—that Bae was at home. _His _home. I didn't think you'd be here, too. I would've thought you'd like to be with your true love, during such uncertain times." Her voice was condescending and a little menacing, and Belle nearly wanted to snort at how hard she was trying.

She'd met things far more vicious than a pretentious pirate wannabe.

"I don't abandon my kids, unlike some people," Belle spat.

Milah's eyes flashed. "Are you calling yourself his mother, now?"

Was she? "Yes," Belle snarled, stepping up to the other woman so they were nose-to-nose. Milah was about three or four inches taller than Belle, so that didn't really help her in the menacing department, but the fire in her blue eyes said it all.

_You don't mess with a mother lion._

"How sad," Milah simpered, "That you actually believe that, I mean. He'll only ever have one mother, darling. Me."

"Good mothers don't abandon their kids, and they don't come sniffing back around to get back at their ex husbands. And don't even try to deny it," Belle added quickly when Milah opened her mouth to say something, "You spent decades in Neverland, as far away from your old family as you could possibly be. All those years on the ocean, did you even think about him?"

"Of course I did," Milah sniped, "Why do you think I came back?"

"Three hundred years later?" Belle countered. Both women were breathing heavily, bodies tense and ready for a fight.

"You don't know anything about me," Milah snarled, "You don't know how miserable I was—with—with _him_."

"Like that's any excuse," Belle spat. Milah lunged, pushing Belle back against a wall. Belle's head snapped back, slamming against the plaster. Stars danced in front of her eyes, but survival instinct and bravery—or perhaps impulsive stupidity—had her lunging back, throwing Milah down onto the floor. The other woman grunted as she hit the hardwood, grappling for the upper hand as Belle came back down, scratching, punching, and kicking.

Belle wasn't exactly what you'd call a prized fighter, and against a woman like Milah, who was at least four inches taller, much heavier, and had experience in hand-to-hand combat, she should've been knocked out in a second flat. But something—adrenaline, perhaps—was fueling her rage and making her do things she never thought she'd do.

Milah herself was very much out of practice—she'd spent the past thirty years as a bartender, and other than throwing Leroy out occasionally, was pretty rusty in the _kicking someone's ass _department.

Belle wasn't sure how long the two women had been going at it, kicking and screaming, pulling hair, waged in an all-out catfight, until she was pushed back into the coffee table by the ex-pirate. Belle braced herself, waiting for the inevitable impact of the glass against her skin—

But it never came.

Belle, breathing heavily, looked around wildly, only to find her safely on the couch, on the other end of the room. Rumpelstiltskin and Baelfire were next to her, and Milah—

"Where'd she go?" Belle whipped her head around wildly, adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled weakly. "Teleportation spell—while draining, it's perfect for whenever you want to gift-wrap your ex wife and send her to an equally bruised Captain Hook. I must say, dearie, that was quite the performance. I knew you were a fighter, but not many people can go head to head with a woman like Milah without magic or formal training."

Bae ducked around his father to come up beside Belle, wrapping her in a light hug, mindful of her bruises. Belle winced, feeling the fresh hits and bumps. It would be worse in the morning, she knew. "But how did—?"

Baelfire chuckled. "You guys didn't even notice me; you were so busy trying to beat each other. I called Papa on his phone, and, well—by the time he got here, you—"

"Nearly had it handled," Rumpelstiltskin finished, his hand glowing purple. Belle nearly wanted to protest his misuse of magic, saying her bruises would heal eventually, but the nasty throbbing on the back of her head where she'd hit after being slammed up against a wall shut her up. Rum seemed to notice, cupping the back of her head gently, the magic going to work. "When I saw you about to be tossed onto a coffee table, however, I felt it was best to intervene."

"You really do love that coffee table," Belle noted, sighing softly as she felt the throbbing ebb away.

"I think I was more concerned about the girl who was about to be thrown _onto _it," Rumple said, sounding worried as his hand ghosted over her shoulders, arms, legs, and torso, weeding out any other wounds or bruises. "You alright, now?"

"Just peachy," Belle mumbled. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to tear you away from—"

"It's fine. Hook's detained—for now—as is Milah, I'm guessing, but just for a night or two."

Belle slung an arm around Bae, who curled into his stepmother's arms. "And Cora?"

"Got away," Rumpelstiltskin said, shaking his head. "But that's not surprising. Nobody was exactly expecting her to come quietly."

Belle nodded, looking down at Bae. The boy was unusually silent, and Belle didn't blame him. He'd made it absolutely clear he wanted nothing to do with the mother who'd abandoned him, and seeing her around town always left him feeling jostled. Who knew how he felt, seeing this?

"I'll get you some tea," Rumpelstiltskin said, seeming to sense the sensitive moment was not for his ears—not yet, anyway. He disappeared into the kitchen, and Belle returned her attention to Baelfire. She pushed some stray hair away from his eyes.

"I think you need a haircut, my little lion," she murmured. He remained silent, hiding his face in her shoulder. She sighed. "Baelfire, honey, what's—"

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "She came here because of me. You got hurt because of me."

Belle blinked—however she suspected this conversation would go, this wasn't it. "What? Bae, oh no, honey. Come here. Look at me." She tilted his chin up, and he met her eyes reluctantly, the deep brown orbs glossy with guilt. They looked like Rumpelstiltskin's did, when Belle had explained that she'd been abducted by Regina. She smiled gently. "Honey, this was not your fault. It's no one's fault."

"But she wanted _me_," Bae said. He wasn't crying—but Belle could hear the guilt in his voice. He may have been bordering fifteen, but he was still a child. "She wanted _me_, and you were protecting _me_. I heard what you said—what she said. Why she'd come here. She thought I was home alone."

"But you weren't," Belle reminded him gently. "You had me."

"Which is the problem!" Bae said, shaking his head, pulling away from her. "You got hurt because of me."

"Baelfire, I got hurt because of _me_. Nobody forced me to fight that woman. You didn't tell me to fight her. I fought her because I wanted to protect _you_. Because you didn't want to see her, and she had no right in this house. Don't you dare go blaming this on yourself, Bae, because nobody decides my fate but _me_. Didn't your dad ever tell you that part of our story?" She was looking him dead in the eyes now, her hands on either side of his head, her blue eyes shining earnestly, willing him to believe her.

Bae bit his lip. "I don't want you hurt, Belle. I don't want to lose another mom." He hugged her tightly, and Belle ignored the pain in her body that hadn't yet healed fully, and hugged him back, just as tight.

"You won't, I promise you won't," Belle murmured, kissing the top of his head.

* * *

**Okay, so that kind of ended quickly, but I didn't really know how to neatly wrap it up.**

**Also, Milah fans—before you go off on a rampage about how I made her a bitch or something, hear me out. I agree, Milah and Rum's relationship wasn't exactly healthy, and no one should go through a loveless marriage. But that still doesn't make it acceptable to leave your kid without an explanation of any kind. This isn't like Emma & Henry, where he's given up for his own good—to give him his best chance. Milah just abandoned her son and her husband, without an explanation of any kind. She didn't even bring Bae up until Rum confronted her about it.**

**As for Bae, and his not wanting to see Milah, I think it's more that sense of betrayal than anything else. Thinking she was dead was one thing; _knowing _that he'd been abandoned is something else entirely. When he says, "I don't want to lose another mom," it's mostly because Milah was still his mom, but in a way, she was dead to him.**

**So yeah, there's my two cents. My next LLM will probably prominently feature Rumple/Bae, and their reconciliation. Or maybe Rumbelle can explain their story? Idk.**


	19. Breakfast

**Summary: **Belle tries to make breakfast for Rumpelstiltskin. Chaos ensues.

**Alright, so. I was originally going to do the "red sock in the washing machine" idea, and I even started it, but then I thought of this and decided to put it on hold, for next time x) anyway, the second snippet from the "Angry Birds" series.**

**This takes place... sometime before "The Crocodile" lol.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own OUAT!

* * *

**_Breakfast_**

Belle had been a great cook back in the Old World. Not as spectacular as some of the castle chefs, back in Avonlea, but she was good enough. When she was a child, she'd sneak into the kitchens and watch as they chopped, sliced, diced, roasted, and sautéed anything and everything they could get their hands on.

Belle had been fascinated by the amount of precision they possessed, how they could take something as mundane as a rutabaga and turn it into something delicious in just a couple of hours.

When she'd been taken to the Dark Castle, she used some of the tricks she observed to try and recreate some of the meals she'd seen—granted, at first, a number of them ended in complete disaster, but she got the hang of it in the end. The good thing about being the caretaker of an enchanted castle was, A, you never ran out of supplies, and B, there was more than enough time to make mistakes.

She'd learned through her failures, and it seemed that now was no different. Only instead of a fire and a pot, she had… oh, what had Rum called it?

Oh, a _stove_. That's right.

Rumple had been kind enough to scrawl down some instructions on how to use the damnable contraption, and as Belle sat, squinting at his loping handwriting, she huffed.

Making breakfast for him was going to be harder than she thought.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin awoke later that morning to the sound of the fire alarm, and the faint smell of smoke. His eyes snapped open as he scrambled to feel the space next to him.

Empty. Damn it.

Throwing the covers of his body, he grabbed his cane and limped as quickly as he could, out of his bedroom and down the stairs. If he'd been in the same situation a month ago, he probably would've hightailed it out of that house and called the fire department.

But now he had magic; it would be too easy to snap his fingers and extinguish whatever fire there was.

And Belle.

Where was Belle?

Rum cursed softly and quickened his pace, following the smell of smoke until he reached the kitchen. Luckily, there was no fire—just smoke. A lot of smoke. The dealmaker watched with wide eyes as Belle waved at the smoke with her hands, trying to clear the air. Noticing him, she shot him a sheepish grin.

"I was making pancakes?"

Rum sighed in relief, shaking his head as he moved towards the window above the sink, opening it, allowing the smoke to filter out. "I don't remember suffocating yourself being part of the process." He waved his hand, turning off the fire alarm with a spark of magic. "Are you alright?" He wasn't mad at her—not really. Okay, maybe he was a bit annoyed that he'd been woken up by a smoke alarm, but he would get over that. No, he was more nervous than anything else—nervous she might've hurt herself, might've burned herself, anything.

"I'm alright," Belle laughed, waving him away. "I was trying to make you breakfast." She frowned at the charred remains of what was supposed to be blueberry pancakes. "I think the heat was on a little too high."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled and shook his head, trying to look nonchalant as he checked her over for any damage.

Belle noticed the way he was looking her over and rolled her eyes, pushing him away from her. "Rum, come on. I'm not some porcelain doll. This world can be a bit… overwhelming, and the technology is something to get used to, but I won't break if you leave me unattended for too long."

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, knowing she was correct—she wasn't breakable. Far from it, actually—one would think, after so many years of captivity, she would have had a breakdown of some sort. But other than the nightmares she never talked about, there was nothing. Nothing you could outwardly notice, anyway.

But that didn't stop him from worrying.

"I don't want you hurt, if I can be around to stop it," he said softly, leaning back against the island counter.

Belle's eyes softened and she smiled. "I love you for caring. I really, really do, but you've got to let me learn some things on my own. I don't learn unless I get hurt, you know. But, if I'm ever in danger of burning your house down again, feel free to stop me, hogtie me, do whatever to ensure I don't." She giggled, and he joined in, too, laughing lightly.

"Duly noted." He kissed her tenderly on the lips. "Now, how about _I _make us breakfast?"

Belle grinned. "Sounds like a deal."

* * *

**I really like writing these. They're kind of a gateway to extreme, unabashed, fluff x) I love fluff.**


	20. Sun and Stars

**Summary: **"Mama, tell me a bedtime story." "Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, a woman fell in love with a beast. But this beast was not a beast, but rather a man dressed like one." Rumpelstiltskin has been missing for three days after a showdown with Cora, and Belle comforts Bae the best way she knows how.

**Something calm, maybe a little hurt/comfort-ish, with a dash of angst. I don't really know how to classify this. Anyway, another moment from my "Little Lion Man"-verse, a week or two after the events in "Mother Lions".**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything!

* * *

**_Sun and Stars_**

_When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Then you shall return to me, my sun and stars. _[Daenerys Targaryen, Game of Thrones]

* * *

It was raining.

Thunder boomed outside. Lightning flashed. It felt like the world was drowning, and Belle couldn't do anything except sit back and watch as it flooded through. She sat on the edge of Baelfire's bed, his head in her lap, her fingers threading through his hair. She hummed a lullaby her mother used to sing to her, the words long lost, but not the melody. Not yet, anyway.

He couldn't sleep. Sometimes it amazed Belle how alike she and her stepson were—despite not being related by blood, they shared so much in the way of emotional and mental traits. Neither of them were afraid to stand up for what they believed in, neither of them hesitated when it came to protecting those they loved.

They were also both petrified of storms.

"When it would rain like this, back in my village," Bae mumbled sleepily, "Papa would light a candle, and tell me a bedtime story."

Belle took a deep, shaky breath. Rumpelstiltskin. _Oh, Rum, where are you? _He'd been gone for days, three, hellish days. Him, Emma, and Regina. All three of them, lost somewhere in the forest, where Cora was. Many of the townspeople thought they were dead—

_No. I've believed a lie like that before; I won't make that mistake again._

"Funny," Belle whispered, "He used to do that for me too. No bedtime story, of course, but when it would storm, I would have nightmares. And I'd always wake up to candles." She remembered those nights fondly, as terrifying as they were. She'd toss and turn in sleep from the awful banging of the thunder outside, reminded all too well of the Ogre Wars outside the walls of her old home, of that one attack, late at night on the castle, of the roaring and the snapping of a boy soldier's bones under an ogre's huge, meaty hand—

Belle kept humming.

"Mama," Bae mumbled, and the beauty's heart lurched at the title of endearment. He'd never called her that before—it was always "Belle". There had always been a certain level of detachment until now, always the reminder that she was just his father's girlfriend, a motherlike figure at best.

Not anymore, it seemed.

"Bae?" she whispered back, running her fingers through his dark hair.

"Mama, tell me a bedtime story." He sounded years younger in that one moment, closer to a tiny child, rather than Bae's close-approaching fifteen.

Belle didn't even have to hesitate. "Once upon a time," she began softly, just over the pounding rain outside, "in a kingdom far, far away, a woman fell in love with a beast. But this beast was not a beast, but rather a man dressed like one."

"This is a nice story. I think I've heard it before," Bae said, a small smile playing on his lips. Yes, he'd heard the tale of how his stepmother and his father had met, but it had been a quick, vague retelling. All they'd said was that he'd gotten her in a deal; Belle supposed that now was the time to tell him the whole, sorry truth. Bae knew nothing of her years in captivity; his only inclination was her occasional nightmare, in the early days of their living with Rum.

Belle continued, closing her eyes to remember more clearly. "Their story began during a war. She was the daughter of a merchant king. The small kingdom, and the string of towns the king overlooked, were under attack, ravaged by ogres." Bae stiffened at the mention of the savage beasts, and Belle kept combing his hair back soothingly, knowing his history with the monsters. "The king contacted a neighboring dukedom, who offered protection in exchange for the king's daughter. The duke had a son around the daughter's age. The king agreed, and the two were scheduled to be wed."

"Was the duke's son's name Gaston?" Bae mumbled, and Belle laughed. Of course, he must've remembered Gaston.

"He was, actually," Belle chuckled, shaking her head. "And he was a great, big, stupid brute who hated the princess's love of reading. The princess didn't think he was very bright, either, though, so no love was lost."

Bae laughed at the lighthearted way she spoke—their days up till now had been filled with worry, apprehension, and awkward silences. It was nice to have something to laugh at, even if it was her loser ex-fiancé.

"Anyway," Belle continued, getting back into the flow of the story, the memories coming easier. "The duke's army helped, definitely, but they did not stop the ogres entirely. There were just too many of them. So the princess convinced her father to get the help of a man she'd read about, many times—the Dark One."

"He came, eventually. He always did, you see, when desperate souls were involved. He came, and he told the princess and her father and the brutish knight Gaston that he could defeat the ogres easily—and he could, don't worry about that—but he'd only do it for a certain price. The king promised him gold, but the beast did not want gold—he could make that. No, he wanted the princess."

"Why?" Bae asked. He knew how; he'd never learned _why_, though.

"As a caretaker, he'd said," Belle sighed. "But the princess could see through him, even that early. He was lonely. She could see it in his eyes; she was always good at reading people. Even the people who didn't look like people. She knew, instinctually, that he would not harm her; so she said yes. She agreed to the terms of the deal and he whisked her away, to his grand castle, the Dark Castle. It was nestled between the highest mountains in the entire realm, a place not many could easily get to. He tried his hardest to frighten her, this beast-that-was-not did, but she would not allow herself to be scared off so easily. He made her sleep in a dungeon, he made awful quips about hunting children for their pelts, and did his best to try and instill a sense of fear inside her. Still, she would not have it. Even when she chipped one of his expensive porcelain teacups, she wasn't scared. Nervous, sure, but hardly scared."

"Months passed, and the princess never shirked her work. She was very curious though, and did manage to get herself into a lot of trouble with her master's collection—a necklace that turned her into a dragon, shoes that never let her stop dancing. It was troublesome at times, and not exactly _peaceful_, but she enjoyed her new life with the devious imp immensely. He was good company, and unlike her family and so-called friends back at her father's kingdom, didn't frown down on her for her love of reading or knowledge. They began to fall in love with each other, finding excuses to get closer to each other after one particular incident involving the drapes—"

"The drapes?" Bae interrupted, his eyebrows quirking. He smiled.

"It was almost spring, and he'd nailed the curtains down. In an attempt to allow some light into the castle, the princess had fallen off a latter, straight into the Dark One's arms." Belle giggled, remembering the time fondly. She had been in love with him for over a month before that, since she'd been kidnapped by some sadistic fae nobleman and his odd half-cat half-girl servant, but that had been the first time she'd really _acknowledged _it. It was a startling revelation, like waking up from a haze she hadn't known she'd even been enshrouded in.

"It was the moment she realized she'd fallen in love with him," Belle murmured, feeling a familiar pang, wishing Rum was here to tell this story with her. "A-anyway… um… they were falling in love, yes. So in love, in fact, the Dark One knew he had to let her go. You see, if you love someone, you set them free. He let her go, hoping she'd return yet knowing the prospect of freedom would be too tempting an offer to resist if she truly wanted to leave."

"On the princess's short journey into town to retrieve straw for her master—he could spin straw to gold, you know—she was stopped by a woman. The woman exuded magic and something dark, and although the princess knew she shouldn't trust her, the dark lady spun such fantastic, beautiful stories of true love's kiss that the princess couldn't shake her. 'True love's kiss can break any curse', is what the lady told the princess, and when the princess returned, she decided to see if it was true or not."

"The princess loved her master, and wanted nothing more than to see him happy, untouched and unscathed by dark magic. She kissed him, thinking she could rid him of the evil inside him and they could live happily ever after. The Dark One, however, grew enraged, believing she'd only kissed him to take his power away and leave him weak. He cast her away."

Bae was listening to her with rapt attention, and his eyes darkened a little. "Didn't the princess try to explain?"

Belle shrugged. "Explanations weren't enough, not for him. He was so used to believing the worst in people, so ready to believe the world was out to get him, that he did not once, for one moment, think that it could truly be love. Only a ploy to get rid of his magic."

The anger and injustice in Bae's eyes melted, to something like sheepishness, guilt, and sadness, all rolled into one. "That's so sad."

Belle smiled and nodded. "It is. The princess thought so, too, but she knew she could not change his mind if it did not want to be changed. Her old master was stubborn that way, so she marched on. She always wanted to see the world, and perhaps this was her chance. Then she could return one day, and try to convince him then. She made off to travel the world, journeying in circles, but having a grand time doing so. She met a dwarf named Dreamy and told him the wonders of true love; she met a prince named Phillip and a warrior woman named Mulan, who were out to search for a sleeping princess in a faraway realm, and they slew a monster or two on the way."

"Monsters?" Bae's eyes widened.

Belle chuckled. "A Yaoguai. Nasty thing. Anyway, the princess continued on her journey, until eventually, she was stopped by the dark lady she'd met so many months before, on the road leading from the Dark Castle."

Bae's eyes widened. "She stole the princess away, didn't she?"

Belle nodded. The day in particular was somewhat of a fog—she'd remembered leaving the tiny little village of Hovonly, two kingdoms away from Rumpelstiltskin's estate. She'd barely made it a mile out of town when the queen and her guard had attacked her and knocked her unconscious. When Belle awoke, she was sitting in a dungeon in one of the queen's towers. "She kept the princess locked away for many months, maybe years. She prayed and hoped that maybe the Dark One would come rescue her. But he did not come—the queen, the dark lady, had lied to him, took advantage of his emotions and said that the princess had died."

"So the princess remained locked in the queen's dungeons, until eventually, she woke up in an entirely new dungeon. An asylum, it was called. She remained there for many years, lost in false memories, until one day, she was rescued. Not by the Dark One she still loved so dearly, not by her dream-rescuer, but a new face entirely. His name was Jefferson, and he led her in the direction of her true love. He went by a different name here, and somehow the princess knew she could trust him, even though she didn't quite know who he was with the curse that had been placed on her."

Baelfire knew enough of the story afterwards, so he took it on from there. "And the Dark One took the princess into the forest, where he brought magic back to the curse, land without magic," he grinned, "And meanwhile, the savior, Emma Swan, broke the curse placed on the town, and likewise, the curse that the princess was under. The princess's memories returned."

Belle smiled. "That's right. But they didn't live happily ever after just yet. They were still missing one thing; the person the Dark One had created the curse for in the first place."

Bae looked up, his confusion plain. "Who?"

"His son," Belle said softly. "What not many people knew was that the Dark One had a goal; he'd had this goal for many years, to find the son he'd lost so long ago."

Bae's eyes were dark with this new information; he'd heard rumors, but this was the first confirmation he'd had that his father had, in fact, created this curse. But hearing it'd been created for _him_… well. That just shed a whole new light on things.

"But it didn't take long for the princess and the Dark One to find him," Bae continued softly, "The princess found the person the Dark One had been looking for all along, the first night the curse broke, didn't she? And they all lived happily ever after."

_For now, _Belle thought, but she smiled and nodded. Baelfire was still blissfully in the dark about the battles on the horizons, the war Rumpelstiltskin kept alluding to. Belle hoped she could keep it that way, just for a little while longer—until reality crashed down so hard they'd all have no choice but to pay attention.

"That's right. They all lived happily ever after. Now, it's almost midnight, and I think you ought to go to bed."

Bae rolled his eyes. He didn't have a designated "bedtime", but he always went to sleep when Belle or his father told him to. They always wound up alerting him to just how tired he was—without them, he doubted he'd ever realize he could get sleepy. The fourteen year old curled up under the covers, feeling the fatigue of a day full of worry fraying at his mind.

"Night, Bae," Belle whispered, kissing his forehead.

"Night, Mama," Bae mumbled back, watching as she went for the door. The new endearment made Belle's lips twitch into a smile. It felt nice. "Mama?" he asked, when she had her hand on the doorknob.

"Yeah, Bae?" She turned to look at him.

Bae's eyes were shining—whether from tiredness or tears, Belle wasn't sure. "He'll come back. He always does. It just takes him a while, sometimes."

Belle blinked, and then she smiled. "I know, sweetie. Thanks."

She flicked the lights off before leaving.

* * *

Belle entered hers and Rum's bedroom without pause, her mind foggy from exhaustion and that ever-present worry. She rested her back against the door, closing it quietly so not to disturb Bae, two rooms over. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Telling her story—_their _story—had been cathartic, in a way. It reminded her that no matter how many times the world tried to rip them apart, they'd always fight for each other. It's just who they were; Rumpelstiltskin and Belle.

And that's what she had to keep thinking, whenever he was away, fighting Cora or Hook; or whenever she managed to get herself kidnapped and held hostage.

They'd fight for each other. Each other, and the little boy two rooms over. They'd always fight for what they loved.

It was just who they were.

* * *

**Based off of those new promos, where Belle talks about "something worth fighting for" (AKA RUM. OMG.) Anyway, she gets shot too, apparently. How is that girl always getting into trouble? It's getting old. Why don't we put one of the other characters in constant damsel-situations, huh? That might sound mean, but seriously, her character needs to develop more, and they aren't doing her justice by just making it so she's always getting hurt. Or kidnapped.**

**Also, I might continue this with a Rumple-comes-home-shot, but it'll probably just be him and Belle-centric, with little or no Bae. So... yeah. Just a heads up.**


	21. Box Up All the Butterflies

**Summary: **"You have to get her to fall in love with you again."

**God, I told myself I wasn't going to torture myself with one of these Belle-loses-her-memory-and-Rumple-has-to-restore-it fics, but what with the events in _The Outsider_, I just had to. Good Gods, what is wrong with these writers? They just love poking holes in the Rumbelle ship, don't they? Please don't let them end like the Titanic, oh pleeeaaaase…**

**Oh, and if you saw the Canadian promo, just pretend Rumple never kissed Belle. We can't have her screaming and being completely terrified of him, can we? Also, yes, she's going by Gabbe. I assume Belle either has a Storybrooke persona waiting in the wings, or they're going to pull a Charming and have her get complete, total amnesia. For the sake of a plot, I'm giving her a semi-background story that has nothing to do with _Over the Hills_, so please don't assume _that _Gabbe and _this _Gabbe are the same Storybrooke Belle, if that makes any sense. I'm only using this name for the sake of needing another name. Maybe I should stop writing stories like these.**

**My head is beginning to hurt.**

**Also—yay, Coop makes a comeback. She's bitchy and it's only for one segment, but it felt necessary. I needed someone who wasn't an evil witch or Emma to give advice without cowering in fear while simultaneously giving Rum a verbal bitch slap.**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the quote. Don't own the song. Don't own OUAT. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction. I'd be hitting Hook with another car and getting Rumple to get Belle's memory back, of course.

* * *

**_Box Up All the Butterflies_**

_Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, _  
_Tears from the depths of some divine despair_  
_Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, _  
_In looking on the happy autumn fields, _  
_And thinking of the days that are no more._ [Alfred Lloyd Tennyson]

* * *

Caroline Truelove was probably one of the oddest ducks in town—a pretty girl who lived forever in the shadows of mystery, giving the odd stranger her name and nothing else. No one in Storybrooke knew much about her, other than she was the best (_only_) marriage counselor in town, and after the curse had been broken, nobody rose to claim her as family, friend, or even acquaintance, and that cloud of mystique only grew.

Nobody talked to her outside of her counseling sessions. It was a sort of unspoken rule—Caroline was sweet enough, pretty enough, and on the outside, she definitely looked _normal _enough—but there was something off-putting about her, something that said it was fine to look but forbidden to touch. Something that had everyone backing away.

Well… maybe not _everyone_.

Rumpelstiltskin, for example, was a prime exception.

The Dark One in question was given a wide berth as he stormed his way down the residential street, straight to the unlucky relationship therapist's home. People watched with wide eyes as magic sparked from his very fingertips, simmering over the careful control he'd been exhibiting since his true love—that strange girl, Belle, even stranger than Caroline—had walked into his life.

That control seemed to be slipping, and was nearly unleashed as he stepped onto the former Cupid's property. He raised a hand to begin pounding on the red door, only to be cut off as said door swung open. Cooper—Caroline—whatever, didn't look very amused, glowering at him with glittering hazel eyes.

"Think you could be just a _little _less conspicuous? I could feel your rage all the way across town. It began to grate on me—and I'd been feeling so good, too, what with all the reunited true loves. It's the moment I've been waiting nearly thirty years for, Rum, and you ruined it. What the hell do you want?"

The Dark One was—if it was possible—even less in the mood for pleasantries than the harbinger of true romance. He snarled in her face, bracing a hand against the wall of the house, trying to cage her in against the door. "What the hell do I _want_? Check your list, Coop. Not all of your _true loves _are united. Belle—"

"Lost her memory, yes, the whole town is aware," Cooper snapped back, her hazel eyes flashing. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Do about it? _I want you to get her memory back_!" The last part was said in a shout that resonated through the whole neighborhood, if not the whole town. A number of people turned their heads to look at the scene.

Coop turned her cold glare on the majority of the onlookers, who startled and went about their day, pointedly ignoring them. Her hazel eyes flickered back to her guest, the look of irritation fading into one of mild sympathy. "I can't," she muttered, "True love conquers all—that much is true, but amnesia is a loophole the gods didn't plan on. True love's kiss can't break the curse if the victim can't even remember who they're supposedly in love with. She doesn't remember you, so it's not _technically _true love." She bit her lip. "But technicalities always were a bore. This kind of magic is embedded inside of you. Deep inside you and nothing can just make it _leave_. She still cares for you—she just can't remember it. She might find herself trusting you, even if she doesn't know why. Smiling even though she has no reason to. Falling for you without expecting it."

Rum's anger had subsided considerably, his rage giving way to exhaustion. Over the course of the past few days, what with the arrival of Hook and the new stranger, and Belle losing her memory, he'd been on a tirade, desperate for an answer. And here, with the person he'd been so sure could give him the right one, knowing she couldn't, he finally allowed himself to deflate and the pain to take over.

"Then what _can _you do?" She had to have _some _sway in the way of the world; more so than even the Dark One; she was love personified. She could do anything she wanted. She knew more than he did, was older than even him. She had to know _something_.

Coop eyed him warily, assessed him, as if she was checking his sanity. Checking to see if he'd lash out and kill her with his cane if she said the wrong thing. Finally, as if realizing that _no_, he wasn't going to bash her skull in or cast some weird voodoo curse on her, she sighed. "_I _can't do anything. Only _you _can. You have to get her to fall in love with you again."

That said, Coop smiled conspiratorially, shutting the door in his face.

Rum stared at the door, wondering just how he could do _that_.

* * *

He found her at Granny's.

No surprise.

It seemed her life in Storybrooke wasn't too different than her life in the Old World, with the major exception that he was no one to her. She was still considered a bit of an oddity, she still had that love of books, and she was still clumsy as hell.

The difference?

She was cooler to the people around her. More closed-off. _Timid_, if he didn't know any better. She jumped at the slightest sound, trembling like a leaf, the mere shadow of the brave, brilliant, shining soul he'd fallen in love with. She seemed weaker.

God, it was going to be so hard not to kill Regina.

Ruby, with her dreamy, teenage fantasies of true love, helped him with any chance he could to get her back. She'd drop hints to this shell of Belle—_Gabbe_, her name is _Gabbe_—and seat her right beside him when they happened to be in the diner together.

It was during one of these instances, a few days after that meeting with Coop, that Rumple decided to put his plan into action. She herself seemed to be sensing a change in the air, because she was the one to approach _him_—always the one, always the one to approach first—standing timidly by his booth at the diner, shifting from foot to foot. Her head was bowed and her eyes were averted.

"You're Mr. Gold, right?"

He looked up at her, smiling lightly. She wasn't Belle, but at the same time, she was. "Yeah. And you're Be—Gabbe."

She frowned at the misstep in her name, but recovered quickly. "Yeah… um, well, the sheriff told me about you… how you saved my life, from that man. How you called the paramedics. I just wanted to say thank you, you know. It's… um… thanks."

Gold smiled slowly. "Well… I did promise I'd protect you, didn't I?"

Had he? Belle had thought that day at the pawnshop had been a dream—that day in the woods… she hadn't remembered anything after that, other than getting shot at the town line. It had been a blur of color and muffled words, and she'd been trying very hard to get those lost memories back.

"You really don't remember anything?"

Belle started at the deep, almost eager baritone. She blinked slowly. "Oh… no. Sorry. Dr. Whale says it could be shock, you know. From getting shot." She looked back down, at the toes of her shoes. "I—I don't suppose you could tell me anything, could you?"

He shook his head. He wanted to tell her _everything_—but chances were, all that would get him was a crazy stare and her making a point to never see him again. "Sorry, dear. I don't know much. All I know is I'm supposed to protect you, apparently." Yes, he'd protect her—better than he had before. From Hook, from Regina, from Cora—from everyone.

Belle nodded in understanding, cracking a small smile. "Judging by the scar I have on my back, I'd say I need it."

He returned her smile, his anger sparking in his veins. Hook was lucky he was in heavy lockdown in the hospital, or Rumple would've hunted the bastard down and killed him himself. "Perhaps. Look—Gabbe." It felt so odd, saying that name. He threaded his fingers together in front of him, looking her square in the eyes. She could barely meet his gaze. "I know—I know you barely know me, but obviously you need—you need a home. And…"

"And you wanted to know if I wanted to move in with you?" she finished. She didn't look particularly surprised or appalled, just curious, like she'd been expecting it. "Ruby told me you might ask me that. Said you'd been really worried about me." She eyed him curiously, tilting her head to one side, her blue eyes assessing him. "You knew me, didn't you? Before." She said it as if it were a chapter of her life. Her life _Before _and her life _After_. Before the asylum, after the asylum. Before the curse, After the curse.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't flinch, didn't back away, didn't deny it. He just nodded. "You did."

"My memory of my life before the asylum is shoddy at best," Belle/Gabbe admitted, her eyes still downcast, unable to meet his gaze. "So… I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault you don't remember." _It's Hook's. And mine. _"So, is this a yes?"

Gabbe bit her lip, taking a moment to contemplate, to weigh her options. He didn't seem like an axe-murderer, stalker or rapist, and even if he was, Gabbe was pretty sure she'd be able to take him down if necessary. Part of her screamed at her for jumping at the chance to move in with a perfect stranger, but he seemed sincere when he said he'd protect her. And although he was, admittedly, a pretty scary guy, another part of her thrilled at being close to him. He was a part of her past... she knew it. But to accept whatever their relationship was, first she had to remember it.

She nodded slowly, giving him a small smile.

"This is a yes."

* * *

**Alright, part one of two, complete! I'll try and have the second part out before Sunday—actually, I can pretty much guarantee it'll be out before Sunday, so keep an eye out for it. The reason it's split into two chapters is actually because the plot calls for something lengthy, and I don't like these chapters being extra-super-epic long. Also, sorry if this sucks, or seems kind of shoddy—I wanted to get over the preliminary part of this fic, so yeah.**

**Also, yes, I know, no normal person would just agree to move in like _that_, but like Coop said... you don't just forget your true love. Not completely, anyway ;)**


	22. Forever, Always

**Summary; **Gabriella French has moved in with Mr. Gold. Rumpelstiltskin just wants Belle to remember. Companion to "Box up All the Butterflies".

**Whew, so yeah! I kept my promise, right? Barely, anyway xD**

**Also, to a guest reviewer, **Taylor, **and anyone else who's wondering; yes, I will be continuing with _Sun and Stars_, but I wanted to get this said and done. It'll probably be the next chapter after this one. With the events of _The Outsider_, I felt I needed to add my two cents on the horrible predicament that is Belle's lost memory.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything!

* * *

**_Forever, Always_**

_Extinguish my eyes; I'll go on seeing you.  
Seal my ears; I'll go on hearing you.  
And without feet I can make my way to you,  
without a mouth I can swear your name._

Break off my arms; I'll take hold of you  
with my heart as with a hand.  
Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.  
And if you consume my brain with fire,  
I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood. [Rainer Maria Rilke]

* * *

She moved in on the Wednesday after the talk at the diner.

It was a bit odd, Rumpelstiltskin had to admit, having her back in the house, but he was happy she even _was _back. She set her bags in the living room, not even bothering to try and make it up the stairs before she was looking over the countless baubles in his house.

"Remember anything?" he asked softly, as she brushed her fingers over a leather-embossed book. _Her_ book, even though she didn't remember it. The book Eduard the bookseller had given her, no charge, back in her old kingdom, in their old world, when she was just a child.

Her eyes shifted, but nothing registered as she began to flip through the fragile, impossibly thin pages, caressing the written words like they were old friends. Then, just as quickly as she'd opened it, she shut it, clasping her hands tightly in front of her.

"No," she muttered, not meeting his gaze.

* * *

Dreams had always been her escape.

Even the four white padded walls in the asylum couldn't keep her from leaving to the depths of her mind. Maybe someone would consider that unhealthy, but really, what choice did Gabbe have? It was either that, or count the minutes until her next feeding or injection.

No, dreams had always been her reprieve, from the boring, drab confines of this world, fading and blending into the next. In this world, she was the mental patient no one could look straight at, and in the other, she was a princess. A warrior. A caretaker. A lover. A thousand and one things, far more exciting than anything she could ever be in Storybrooke.

"Here's your room," Gold said, taking her to the guest bedroom. She looked the place over—pristine white carpet, tacky red wallpaper from what looked like the seventies or eighties, a bed and a vanity. Simple. She smiled.

"Thank you."

He hesitated before leaving her. "I'll… be right across the hall if you need me. Good night."

"Night." The door shut behind him, and Gabbe sighed.

She wanted to dream.

* * *

_Or maybe not._

The flashes were vivid—a spool of golden twine, paper mâché dragons, ruby shoes and a satchel of arrows. They flew across her mind's eye in quick succession, one after the other, until she woke up in a cold sweat.

Something warm was sitting beside her, a strong, cold hand ghosting over her face, cupping her cheeks, wiping away tears. "Be—Gabriella," Gold rasped, his eyes wide and worried as they stared down on her. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head. _No. No. No. _How could you be okay, when you couldn't tell what was reality, what was a memory, and what was just your sick, sick mind? She sobbed, and Gold's eyes softened even further, pulling her up and against his chest.

"You have nothing to fear," he murmured, "I'm here now." He waited until her sobs quieted, and then he was slowly detaching himself from her, giving her space—but she didn't want space. She grabbed his hand, tugging him back down on the bed. "Gabriella?" he murmured confusedly.

"Don't leave me. Please, please don't leave me," she whispered, feeling weak and helpless. And that's the way Gabbe had always been, hadn't it? Weak, helpless; a shadow, a shell. Ever since her mother's death, it had been this way. She'd locked people out, damned herself forever in this tiny town by ignoring her friends and shutting herself away in her bedroom for days at a time.

It was one of the many reasons her father had locked her up.

Gold didn't leave. He scooted closer, and she made room for him. He tucked her underneath the warm, downy comforters, and he stayed on top of them, brushing her hair back with his large hand until her breathing returned to normal.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, just before sleep claimed her.

Darkness touched the edges of her vision, barely catching his smile, nice and warm and painful, "Don't be."

* * *

When she came downstairs the next morning, he smiled, as if knowing a secret she didn't.

He'd been gone when she'd woken up; he'd probably left right after she'd nodded off. He seemed like the type to do that. He was standing by the stove, attending to breakfast. Nodding to the kitchen table, he said, "I made breakfast. Blueberry pancakes."

Her favorite. Obviously, he knew her better than she thought. "Thank you," she murmured, taking her designated spot at the table. She ate like a bird, picking at the stack and dragging her fork through the thick maple syrup drizzled on top, until he took his seat across from her and she spoke again.

"You're kind of stupid, I think."

Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow—maybe he was wrong; she wasn't timid. Not at all, if she could say that. Just quiet. Aloof, closed-off. The only time she'd really said _anything _was when he'd caught her at her most vulnerable—in the aftermath of a nightmare.

"Oh?" he said, "Why is that?"

She smiled bitterly. "You're housing a mental patient, for starters. How do you know I'm not some crazy lunatic?" She said it with such self-hatred, it made his head whirl.

He tried to ignore the loathing in her voice and smiled, taking a small sip of his coffee.

"Easy. I know _you_."

Gabbe frowned. No one knew her.

Not really.

* * *

Both Cooper and Archie had suggested exercises in an attempt to get her to open up. Just little probing questions, enough to get Gabbe a little more comfortable, but not enough to close off from him completely. She was a closed-hearted kind of girl; Gabriella French was, guarded by a wall of briars and thorns.

She reminded Rumpelstiltskin of himself, a little bit, and it left him wondering just what memory Regina had created that left this girl so scarred.

"Why won't you talk to your father?" It was a simple, easy question. Gabbe could've easily gone to Moe—Maurice—for help. She could've decided against Ruby's kindhearted attempts at getting to know her again, or Mr. Gold's longing, sad looks. She could've gone to the only family she knew.

They were standing in the kitchen, preparing a quick lunch. It had been nearly five days since she'd moved in with him, and they'd barely talked, other than the quick, awkward chats they'd have at mealtimes. It was like reliving those first few days at the Dark Castle all over again.

Gabbe stopped adding sugar to her tea long enough to meet his eyes. "He never visited me in the hospital. And there was something… off-putting about him, the first time I spoke to him after I was released. I mean, he's my father; I suppose I love him. But I don't trust him."

He nodded; he could see why. Even though they were Gabbe's memories, Belle's experiences made her wary. "And you trust me more than your own father?"

Gabbe smiled. "Yes, well. You never locked me in an asylum and threw away the key."

* * *

Days turned into weeks. Baelfire's cloak was hidden away in his closet, still coated with that protective potion. Rumpelstiltskin wanted, more than anything, to slip the thing around his neck and go off searching for his son; but he couldn't. Not with a cursed Belle and a still-vengeful Killian Jones traipsing around the town.

Rumple wouldn't take any chances with her; not this time. He'd break her curse, and he'd make another potion. He'd take her along, and they'd find his son together.

He owed her that much.

* * *

There was one thing that separated Gabbe from Belle.

Her wall. Her dark, foreboding wall of rose thorns, keeping everyone away from the tender, broken heart underneath. She kept everyone at an arm's length—the well-intentioned Emma, the matronly Granny, the doe-eyed Mary Margaret, the virtuous David, the innocent Henry, even her best friend, Ruby. Everyone who wanted in she'd keep out, if only for the sole purpose of saving herself the heartache when they inevitably left.

Rumpelstiltskin could tell. He knew the signs. He _was_ the signs, once. Maybe he still was. And maybe that was why she let _him _in, however little. He was allowed little glimmers and glimpses into her scarred past and her impossibly bright future.

She told him stories about her (_fake_) childhood. How her mother killed herself when she was nineteen, overdosed on sleeping pills. How Gabbe locked herself away, stopped talking to her friends, to her father. How Moe had had enough of his daughter's antisocial behavior and talk of odd dreams and threw her to Dr. Whale, to Madame Mayor, to the wolves in charge of the psychiatric unit of the hospital.

He felt a range of emotions as he listened to her story—fear, sadness, rage, love, guilt. They were all false memories; they'd never happened, not to her, not in this life.

But that was hardly comforting, when she believed otherwise.

* * *

As the weeks dragged on into the first month, Gabbe incorporated herself back into polite society; she'd made fast friends with Mary Margaret and Emma, grew to trust Ruby and Granny again; read stories to little Henry when his family was busy looking out for Cora. She opened the library, and the town grew to trust her, even to love her.

She was closer to the Belle he remembered. Her walls had very nearly crumbled, and now there was nothing separating the two women—nothing, except a band of lost memories and an unrequited true love.

Until the nightmare, anyway.

Gabbe wasn't a stranger to nightmares—Rumpelstiltskin knew that much, noticing the little spikes in her life force the mornings after she'd had a particularly nasty trip into the dreamworlds. She never cried out during those nightmares, though; not since that first night.

So that's why it was a bit of a surprise when he felt the telltale spike of terror in the air, signaling she'd just woken up from a particularly bad dream. He felt the need to go to her, maybe to assure her it was okay, that she was safe, but before he could make up his mind to do that, his bedroom door opened, and the girl of the hour stepped inside.

"Love?" he murmured, looking up at her. Tears ran down her pale cheeks, and her blue eyes shined in the moonlight that poured through the drapes. She didn't say anything; she just looked at him imploringly, through glassy eyes, and he understood immediately, scooting over to make room for her. She curled underneath the covers, pinned to his side.

"I didn't want to be alone anymore," she murmured, looking up at him with those impossibly blue eyes. He nodded, not really trusting his voice.

She'd only lived with him—only really _knew _him for a month, and yet she already trusted him enough to allow him to comfort her, to console her when she's knocked out of the world she'd always coveted, both in this world and the last. She'd always thought of dreams as gateways to another, better world, one where you could do anything and everything you desired. And now those very same dreams were biting her, making her cry and causing her pain.

He kissed her forehead gently, and she sobbed quietly, tilting her head up slightly so they were nose-to-nose. He almost pushed her away, that familiar old fear of letting anyone get _too close _bubbling back up, but one look in those eyes banished his fears. She was Belle, and she was his. No matter what this curse did to her, she'd always be his One True Love.

She had that same fear, reflected back in her eyes—she didn't want to let anyone, not even Mr. Gold, into the secret spaces of her heart. She didn't want to peel back that outer layer for anyone. She hadn't done this with Ruby, or her father; why would she do it with him?

_Because you love him, dumbass, _her mind hissed, the part of her mind she'd always thought was the least-sane and least-rational. But right now it was making the most sense, more than any of the other parts of her head that were currently wailing, "Approaching dangerous territory, turn around now!"

"Gabbe, what are you doing?" Gold murmured one last chance to let her stop now she wanted.

She smiled. So considerate. He painted himself to be the monster, the shark of the town, the beast of the tale, but he was a man, through and through. He had a heart, and he loved her. She'd known it from the very first day—he loved her, and for a long time, Gabbe felt bad, because obviously, she must've loved him too, once—and now, she couldn't remember any of it and she was left feeling like she'd lost something of his, something impossibly precious. _Like his heart._

Maybe it was time to give it back.

"Shut up," she mumbled, taking a few seconds more to stare into his eyes, before leaning forward and pressing her lips against his. He moaned, and shifted a little, cupping the back of her head with his large, cold hands. Jeez, why were his hands always _freezing_?

The thought was fleeting, forgotten instantly when a shudder of magic passed through her.

* * *

He pulled away when he felt his lips tingle, and the bittersweet taste of magic ease its way between their lips. She was staring at him with wide, blue eyes, her breathing shallow and her cheeks flushed.

"Gabbe?" Rumpelstiltskin murmured, looking at her, for any sign that the curse may have broken—or maybe if she was already regretting that kiss.

She smiled. "I think you mean _Belle_," she quipped, and he let out a strangled cry of joy as he crushed her to his chest. She giggled, sniffing away the tears of her earlier nightmare, gladly welcoming the new tears—tears of joy—as he held her close to him.

"You remember," he whispered into her hair, "you _remember_."

She laughed, allowing him to hold her tighter. "I remember," she mumbled. There were so many other things to say—so many things just lying on the tip of her tongue. Things about the past month, things about Killian, about Baelfire. She knew her lost memory had probably put a lot of his plans on hold; not to mention the heart-wrenching pain she always found in his eyes. Hopefully now that pain would finally begin to heal.

His voice was calmed, but there was no denying the underlying hysterics when he said, "I thought I'd lost you. I thought… maybe Coop was wrong, maybe…"

Coop. The name was familiar, but Belle didn't dwell on it. He was talking to himself more than he was talking to her. She pulled away and gave him a smile. "I told you once, a long time ago, that I'd go with you forever. That hasn't changed."

He let out a wet chuckle, pressing his forehead against hers. She'd never seen him so clingy, so damaged, so beautiful, so broken, so… tender. Even during the weeks she stayed with him in his home, before the debacle with her father and that Smee fellow, she'd never seen him _quite _so vulnerable. He trembled as his fingers stroked the line of her jaw, his eyes staring into hers.

"Forever," he murmured.

"Always," she vowed.

* * *

**That. Was. A. Doozy. Not one of the longest one-shots I've ever written, but definitely the most challenging. I tried to make it a full-length story without making it over-the-top epic, while also trying to keep it from feeling rushed. I wanted to establish a sense of trust between Gabbe and Gold; otherwise the prospect of her falling in love with him would've just been impossible to comprehend. Her fast falling was mostly because she never really forgot her feelings; to some extent, not even a curse could combat true love. Her mind forgot Rumple, but her heart couldn't.**

**Whew. Alright. So that's enough of my mush. I'll try to have the sequel to "Sun and Stars" up… soon-ish.**


	23. Starlight

**Summary: **Ruby stops by the Gold residence to pass on some news…

**NOT CHIP. OH SWEET MERCIFUL HEAVENS, NOT CHIP! As you all can probably tell, I am very upset with the last episode. Damn writers. But, I have to say, I am extremely curious as to what Belle's mental state is—she was locked up in the asylum in Storybrooke. I wonder if she was actually crazy, or if Regina really was just keeping her there so Rum wouldn't find her. She acted pretty normal in _A Land Without Magic_, but idk. I guess only time will tell.**

**Anyway, this is just a bit of fluff (no angst, promise) to combat the icebergs the S.S Rumbelle always seems to face. Also, just a note, this takes place… an hour or two after the events in _Sun and Stars_.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Once, or the quote.

* * *

**_Starlight_**

_Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them._ [Marcus Aurelius]

* * *

The hopeful baying of a wolf in the not-so-far-off distance broke Belle from her stupor, looking up from the mug of cocoa she'd been staring into for the past half-hour, as if she could find the meaning of life in the murky, milky depths.

Bae was sitting beside her, looking out the window, perking up only when he heard Ruby. Even with the story of his father and soon-to-be-stepmother, Bae had had trouble getting back to sleep until, eventually, he'd decided to make some hot chocolate. He'd found Belle sitting out in the kitchen, over thinking and probably stressing out about nothing good. He'd kept her company and here they'd sat for the past half-hour, but neither of them had said anything substantial.

Ruby's howling had managed to break them out of their uneasy silence. Bae looked hopeful, and Belle envied the boy's easygoing way of thinking. He was blissfully ignorant—as most of the children in Storybrooke were—to the threat Cora posed. All he cared about was whether or not his father would be home soon. He didn't have to think about Milah or Hook or any of Rumple's other enemies or being potentially enslaved to a power-crazed witch that was even eviler than Regina.

"That's gotta be Papa, right?"

"Or maybe Ruby's just having a good time," Belle murmured under her breath, taking a light sip of cocoa. Bae rolled her eyes at her. Belle was generally a pretty happy person, but when the situation turned to Rumpelstiltskin's less-than-safe missions for the Charmings' barely-reinstated 'war council', she tended to get a little… melancholic.

Bae was worried too, don't get him wrong. He knew his papa was doing some dangerous stuff. But that didn't mean she had to lose faith—Cora was powerful, sure. He'd heard the rumors. But the Dark One was always more powerful.

There wasn't a single person, in this world or the last, that would ever be more powerful.

At least, that's what Bae told himself.

"I'm going to go see," the fourteen-year-old said, standing abruptly and heading for the kitchen door.

Belle sighed, debating on whether or not she should tell him to get his butt back here, but knowing her son's stubborn streak, he'd probably just ignore her. So instead, she opted for the ever-momlike, "Well, put your shoes on! It's wet out there!"

Bae rolled his eyes and grumbled, but complied, sticking his feet into his tennis-shoes without bothering to undo the laces, before he was out the front door and staring out onto the darkened streets ahead. Maybe Ruby was just howling because she was enjoying her freedom, getting back into the thrill of wolfstime, but Bae couldn't shake the hope that his papa would come home—soon.

Belle watched her son sadly from her spot at the door, still cradling her cup of cocoa. Gods, the boy missed his father. It was only natural, but it still pained her, to watch him ache so badly over the one person, the one constant in his short life.

They waited outside for about ten minutes, until Ruby's howling, a little more mournful this time, broke the silence and alerted Bae to just how cold it was. He shivered. Belle stepped forward, wrapping her arms around the boy's lanky frame.

"He'll be home soon, I promise. Maybe not tonight, though. Let's just… go inside. Get some sleep. We can call Snow in the morning—maybe Emma sent one of her doves back."

"Maybe," Baelfire mumbled, and the two turned to head back inside, stopped only by a shadow, bounding down the street. It stopped in front of their house, and it only took Belle a second to realize what—who—it was.

"Ruby," Belle said, and the wolf whimpered anxiously, stepping backwards slightly.

_Follow me, _she seemed to say. Bae and Belle shared a look, before Belle nodded. "We need to change."

The wolf sniffed, and sat down on the pavement to wait. _Make it quick._ It was like Belle could read Ruby's mind, even in her wolf-form. The two had become fast friends, developed a special bond very quickly.

Belle nodded and she and Bae ran back into the house, changing quickly from their pajamas to street clothes. Belle laced up her Converse quickly, already knowing why her friend was here, anxious to get to where they needed to be. Ruby was still waiting for them when they got outside, and as soon as the house was locked and Belle and Bae were ready, the werewolf set into a fast-paced trot. Fast enough to get the message that they had to be quick across, yet slow enough for the two humans to keep pace.

They walked for about twenty minutes—twenty minutes that felt like an eternity—until they were outside Mary Margaret's apartment building. Belle said a quick 'thank you' to Ruby, before running inside the building, she and Bae running up flights of stairs until they reached Mary Margaret's apartment. Belle knocked frantically, not sure what she'd find on the other side but pushing forward nonetheless. Baelfire stood behind her, wringing his hands together—almost nervously.

The door opened a split second later to reveal David, who smiled broadly at seeing the pair. "Belle—Bae, buddy, how are you?"

"Good," Bae replied, "How's my papa?"

David's expression softened. "He's fine—weak, but fine. Emma managed to drag him back here without too much trouble. Regina's in the hospital. It seems she got the brunt of whatever spell Cora aimed at them—she and Rumpelstiltskin tried to deflect it, since Emma's magic was a bit—well, unstable, for a lack of a better word—but such a direct hit nearly killed her. Rumpelstiltskin, being so powerful, got severely drained, but it's nothing some food and a good night's sleep won't fix."

Belle made a little choking noise at the mention of Regina—she may not have been at the top of Belle's list for people she didn't want harmed, but that didn't mean the beauty wanted to think of her like _that_. And for Cora, to do something like that to her own child… it made Belle shudder.

"May we see him?" Belle found her voice, looking the deputy sheriff square in the eyes.

"Of course," the former shepherd said, moving aside to let the two pass. The apartment was still the same—other than the makeshift bed made on the couch in the middle of the living room. Snow was making what smelled like tea, and Emma was hunched over Rumple, the two of them speaking in low tones. The Dark One perked up when he saw who entered.

"Belle, Bae," he said, surprised, trying to sit up and failing miserably. He winced, easing himself back down. Bae was at his side in an instant, his eyes bright and worried.

"Are you okay, Papa?"

"I—I'm fine, Bae."

While the two sat talking, Emma stood and walked over to Belle, looking guilty and confused and just… exhausted. Belle could see the tiredness in the savior was bone-deep. She actually looked like she could and probably would sleep for the next hundred years or so.

"I am so sorry," the blonde murmured, shaking her head. "It's just—I couldn't—and the magic, it wouldn't—" she closed her eyes. "They were counting on me, and I couldn't draw the magic up. I just… I froze, and…"

Belle held up a hand, giving her friend a gentle smile. "It's not your fault, Em. Regina and Rum got hurt, yes, but no one died. They had to have known it might happen, and they took that risk. You guys were going in half-blind, and it's _not _your fault."

Emma relaxed. She'd been hearing that all night—from Snow, from David, even from Henry and surprisingly, Rumpelstiltskin himself. But to hear it from Belle—it kind of just stuck when she said it. Maybe because she was the girlfriend of the man she'd nearly gotten killed, who had the right, more than anyone except maybe Gold's son, to be severely pissed off. "Thank you," the blonde sheriff said, and Belle nodded. After a brief pause, the savior continued, "This isn't the part where we hug, is it?"

Belle laughed. "Not if you don't want to, I think." She knew Emma was by no means what one would call a _hugger_.

Emma offered a halfhearted smile. "Good. I'm not exactly a fan of chick-flick moments." She grabbed Belle's shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. "You're good for him, you know. You and the kid. A month ago, he probably would be screaming at me right now, or at the very least berating me for how much I wasn't focused. Well—okay, he did that anyway, but he's been… softer, since you came around." She bit her lip, smiling a little. "And _don't _tell him I told you that."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Belle laughed, "The last thing we'd want is for him to abandon his newfound teddy-bear ways."

"Definitely," Emma agreed, grinning. "He's easier to manage this way. And easier to work with." She turned away from the beauty, walking towards her parents and taking the proffered mug of chamomile. Belle watched them for a moment, thankful they seemed to be granting them privacy, at least with their eyes. Their ears were most likely open out of general curiosity, but at least they were polite enough not to show it.

She turned back to her true love.

Baelfire was alight with happiness, telling him all about the story Belle had weaved, not even four hours earlier. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes lifted to meet his true love's, a sage smile lighting up his face. "You're the reason the Yaoguai left?"

Belle blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I was telling him about the Yaoguai, how you and Mulan slew it," Baelfire stated proudly, grinning up at her.

Rumple laughed lightly. "I had a number of complaints coming from that tiny village in Cathay—villagers literally begging me to go and slay the beast. But before I could make due on any of the requests, it had already gone." His smile turned proud. "You slew it?"

Belle smirked. "Well—yes and no. The beast wasn't a beast at all, actually, but rather yet another man dressed like one." She shrugged. "I seem to be finding those everywhere."

Rumple pouted. "Careful, dearie, you'll make me jealous."

Belle rolled her eyes. "You know I only have eyes for one," she said, smiling widely. "I'm glad you're safe, darling."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "Physically, yes. My body is perfectly safe. My pride? Well…" he raised his head, looking at Snow. "Hey, Nurse Blanchard—am I clear yet? May I go home with my lovely family?"

Snow White smirked and approached the family, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Actually, while we would all prefer to have you out of here as soon as possible, that's not really a good idea. You can't even sit up, let alone walk straight. You'll be out of here by morning—and right into Dr. Whale's all too capable hands, I'm sure."

The Dark One pouted, a gesture that was more Rumpelstiltskin than Mr. Gold and had Emma blinking just to make sure she was seeing this right. Mr. Gold—the classy, sophisticated Mr. Gold, acting childish? Hell just froze over, the sheriff was sure.

"I am not having Doctor Frankenstein's hands get anywhere near me. That man works on dead people."

"He's also an outstanding doctor," Belle protested weakly, but she knew it would do no good. Her boyfriend could barely move—Snow was right. Belle looked up at her old friend, smiling gratefully. "You guys don't mind housing him? He can get cranky."

"Oh, we know," Snow said, rolling her eyes, "And trust us, Belle, we don't mind. Or, I don't. Which automatically means Charming won't, either. And because this house is run under a democracy, two against one wins. So Emma's input means nothing."

"Hey!" Father and daughter protested in unison, grumbling but not daring to go against the formidable Snow White. Even Emma, for all her bravery and tough-girl attitude, had grown to be a little afraid of her newfound mother.

"Thanks, Snow," Belle laughed.

Snow nodded. "Do you guys maybe want to stay here, too? You'll have to bunk on the floor, since there's no more room—Emma and Henry are already sharing a bed, now—but if you want—"

Belle caught sight of Emma and David's pained faces, knowing they'd be gracious hosts if need be, but also knowing they'd hate every minute of it. The beauty grinned and shook her head, no. "Nah, it'd be a tight squeeze. I think we can wait three more hours until sunrise." She turned back to her currently incapacitated boyfriend. "I guess I'll see you once you're air-lifted back to Storybrooke General, then." She kissed him quickly on the lips, before grabbing Bae's hand.

Rumple grumbled. "Why can't you be inhospitable, just once? Stay. Don't leave me. Please. Snow White will murder me in my sleep."

Baelfire giggled, turning his head away so his father couldn't see his grin. Belle rolled her eyes. "She will not. I'll see you later. Thanks again, Snow."

Snow laughed, David and Emma sighed, and Rumpelstiltskin grumbled something about 'betrayal' and 'punishments' and 'grounded for life for letting Belle go through with this'.

And Belle just giggled to herself, happy with the knowledge her true love was safe in the perfectly capable hands of the Charmings.

* * *

**Had to add a little Charming family in there, because I never write about them, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Hope you like the itty bits of fluff! :3**


	24. I'd Found a Home for My Heart

**Summary: **"He'll be happy." "And if he isn't?" she challenged. "Then he'll remember you. In his heart. In his dreams. He'll remember you and he'll know he was always loved."

**What's to say? I know, angst isn't good right now, for anyone, but I had to. This part one of two, another subseries thingy, in _Little Lion Man_. So, in the next part, Bae will be present!**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own OUAT, and I don't own "A Thousand Years".

* * *

**_I'd Found a Home for My Heart_**

_The day we met,_  
_ Frozen I held my breath_  
_ Right from the start_  
_ I knew that I'd found a home for my heart…_  
_ …beats fast_  
_ Colors and promises_  
_ How to be brave?_  
_ How can I love when I'm afraid to fall_  
_ But watching you stand alone?_  
_ All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow_. [Christina Perri, "A Thousand Years Part 2"]

* * *

He came back to the castle at midnight.

Belle had grown used to her master's dealings, the way he'd be away from home at all hours of the day, called by some unknown force she couldn't see or hear. The whining of a desperate soul, he'd called it once, twittering and grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

She was used to her master being away during the day, but he always came back before dinner. He'd miss breakfast, lunch, and tea, but he'd always be home in time for dinner. It was an unspoken promise, one that told Belle he'd always check in, if only to turn around and head right back out after their meal.

She knew something was wrong when the clock chimed seven and he still wasn't home. Belle waited in the Main Hall, wandering around and stoking the fire as dinner cooled on the table. Night fell, the baying of a wolf outside the only sound in the night—that, and the crackling fire. The beauty sank in her master's armchair, tired yet wanting to stay up, wanting to wait for him, wanting—wanting—

The howling of the winter wind and the slamming of the front door shook her out of her thoughts. She gasped, shooting upwards and looking over at the door. Rumpelstiltskin never used the door… he always just appeared in a cloud of purple smoke, usually scared the living hell out of her in the process.

But there he was, looking tired and haggard, with…

With…

Belle's eyebrows furrowed, and she walked forward, tilting her head to the side. "Is that a baby?" she wondered aloud, looking up at her master. His expression was blank, devoid of much emotion, and it scared her. An angry Rumpelstiltskin she could endure; a Rumpelstiltskin who felt like pranking her she could handle. But an emotionless Rumple? The young caretaker was at a loss, truly not knowing what to do.

"You're so very observant, my caretaker," he said, maneuvering the child in a more comfortable position in his arms.

Belle looked at the baby in wonderment. It was a boy, with downy pale hair and eyes the color of sapphires. They peered up at her curiously, unafraid of being in such an unfamiliar face. "Why do you have a baby?" she asked, taking the child as Rumpelstiltskin handed it off to her.

"He's for a deal," the Dark One said, twisting on his heel and heading for the West Wing, where his chambers and his laboratory were. The spaces she wasn't allowed in. "It's your job to care for him, to feed him, to change him until it's time. Try not to shirk your other chores." The clacking of his dragonhide boots faded away, and Belle and the babe were left alone.

* * *

Belle had seen Rumpelstiltskin in a myriad of emotions.

She'd seen him angry over a deal gone bad. She'd seen him giddy over a deal gone exceedingly well. She'd seen him indifferent, she'd seen him cruel, and she'd seen him be silly and childish.

But she'd never seen him like this.

Blank. Empty-hearted. Cold. He never came down from the West Wing, unless it was for a deal. He didn't even come down for dinner. He was a ghost in his own castle, and Belle was the lonely resident.

Belle, and the baby.

* * *

But that was okay.

Belle had somehow managed to find a way to juggle her chores of cleaning and cooking and taking care of the child.

It also helped that the baby was so well-behaved. He hardly cried, simply content hanging from the makeshift sling Belle had made, watching as his caretaker cooked and cleaned and went along with her daily business. He was a good, quiet child. He would probably be a thinker, maybe a general or advisor when he became a man.

At least, that's what Belle thought. Rumpelstiltskin had forbade her from naming him, but after seeing his adorable little personality, she couldn't help herself. "Aldrich," she murmured. A name that meant "wise ruler", something he might someday be.

Something Belle knew he could be.

* * *

He walked in on her singing, once.

It was an accident, really—he was going to her chambers to warn her that he wouldn't be home for dinner again and not to bother making something for him when he heard her voice, soft and lilting, singing to the little one. He peered around the door and saw her as she swayed around her room, around the crib where the child slept.

The baby was staring at her with wide sapphire eyes, hanging on her every word.

"_The day we met… frozen I held my breath, right from the start… I knew I found a home for my heart… beats fast, colors and promises. How to be brave; how can I love when I am afraid to fall? Watching you stand alone… all of my doubt, suddenly goes away somehow…" _Her voice was sweet, a little raspy as she sang. The baby's eyes didn't flutter, they simply stared up at her in wonder, not unlike what Rumpelstiltskin's were doing. "_One step closer…"_

She began the next verse with enthusiasm, her voice dropping to a whisper as she rocked the baby. "_I have died every day waiting for you. Darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more…" _She closed her eyes, "_Time stands still. Beauty in all she is. I will be brave. I will not let anything take away what's standing in front of me… every breath. Every hour has come to this._"

"_One step closer_," Rumpelstiltskin sang softly in time with his caretaker, so softly she didn't even notice him. He walked slowly away from the door, as her sweet voice followed him down the hall. He wouldn't go out, wouldn't make the deal. Not for the child.

Not yet.

* * *

Then Aldrich got sick.

It was about a week into his arrival. He'd woken up in the middle of the night, crying from a fever. Belle had tried calming him down, giving him milk, passing a wet towel over his tiny forehead, but he only fussed more. She had no idea what to do, what he had, what she could—

And then Rumpelstiltskin was there, in her chambers, standing in her room with his arms crossed. He was shirtless, wearing his leather breeches and his dragonhide boots, a potion in one hand, the other beckoning for the child. Belle held the baby close to her chest, reluctant to give him up.

"What will you do to him?" It wasn't that Belle didn't trust Rumpelstiltskin. She just didn't trust magic. Not around a baby. Not around the little one.

Rumple's eyes softened, into something almost human. It reminded Belle that he couldn't have always been the monster he claimed himself to be; he was a man once. He still was, as far as she was concerned. He'd never raised a hand to her, never treated her unfairly. Sure, he had a temper, but no one was perfect.

"I won't hurt him, Belle. I promise." His voice was soft, not berating, or scornful, but comforting.

The beauty, hesitantly, handed the child over to her master. The baby fussed a bit at being jostled, and she made a soothing noise, "Shh, Aldrich." Rumpelstiltskin's eyebrows shot up at the name. Didn't he tell her not to name it? But the way she looked at him… at this _Aldrich_, was almost motherly. His heart stuttered as he took the child, his mind getting spurred up in a fantasy from a million years ago, where instead of him and Bae and Milah, it was him and Bae and Belle, and little Aldrich, and perhaps a little two year old girl, calling him daddy, bookish like her mother—

"Support his head," Belle supplied gently, drawing him out of his fantasy.

"I've held children before," he said softly, uncorking the vial with one hand as he tipped it towards the squirming baby. The little boy struggled for a moment, before his mouth opened, gulping the purple goop down quickly. "Easy now, son," the Dark One chuckled, and Belle watched the exchange in fascination. For the past seven days, her master had been so cold, so aloof, and now here he was, acting… different. Warm. Loving.

Like a father.

* * *

Two more days passed, and Rumple began coming down more. It was as if that night in Belle's chambers had opened some kind of door, one the Dark One had gladly walked through. He would take over for Belle sometimes, when the stress of her workload began to show in her eyes.

And then the day came.

Ten days after Aldrich's arrival, Rumpelstiltskin came to take him. He smiled weakly at his caretaker, who tried to remain aloof as she handed the bundle over. The baby cried out, as if knowing what was about to happen next. "The parents," Belle murmured, after Rumpelstiltskin turned around, about to head to the door. "What are they like?"

The Dark One paused, "A lord and lady. They're rich. He'll want for nothing."

Silence. "I wanted for nothing," Belle muttered, looking down at her feet, "My kingdom had money, until the wars came. It didn't mean I was happy."

"They'll take care of him," Rumpelstiltskin said softly, almost soothingly. As soothing as he could be, anyway. "He'll be happy."

"And if he isn't?" she challenged. Maybe it was a hopeless cause; the baby's parents had already been decided, but Belle wanted to know he was safe, happy, taken care of.

Rumpelstiltskin paused, looking over his shoulder. His eyes were gold as he stared at his caretaker. Aldrich cooed softly, wanting to go back to Belle. Rumple's eyes softened. "Then he'll remember you. In his heart. In his dreams. He'll remember you and he'll know he was always loved."

"He's a baby."

Rumpelstiltskin started back towards the door, his boots clacking. The child began to scream and cry, the first time either the beauty or the beast had ever heard him do so. It made them both pause. Rumple's heart lurched, but he continued his trek.

"It doesn't matter," he told her, over his shoulder, "Children know." And with that, he left the Castle, to give the child to his new family. And Belle sat at the dining room table, and sobbed.

She could still hear little Aldrich's cries.

* * *

As Rumpelstiltskin handed the baby over to his new family, he noticed the way the child was still crying. Squirming, kicking, as all babies do. And maybe that's what the lord and lady told themselves as they cooed over the little baby. They didn't see that he was crying for someone. Crying for Belle.

Rumpelstiltskin was the dealmaker. He took babies away from unfit mothers to give to women who'd do anything for a child. He took them from one horrible home, and brought them to one that was a little less horrible. He'd never felt bad for taking a baby away from his mother.

Until now, that is.

The woman, the baby's new mother, looked up, brown eyes glistening with happy tears. "What shall we name him?" she breathed softly.

"The child has already been named," Rumpelstiltskin said, maybe a little too quickly. The lord and lady looked at him expectantly, their eyes still overflowing with those happy tears.

"His name is Aldrich."

* * *

When Rumpelstiltskin got back home, dinner was ready. Belle drifted along the edge of the Main Hall like a ghost, until the Dark One bade her to come and sit with him. She complied, and they both sat in silence until Rumple broke it.

"Do you want children?" he asked. Here it was, the kicker, the way out, the question; _do you want me to get that child back for you?_

Belle shrugged. "I won't lie; I didn't, not at first. But…" she sighed, unable to say it. Unable to say, _I love that child, but so do his new parents. _Belle wasn't selfish; not like him. She wouldn't rip a family apart.

Not like he would, anyway.

* * *

He sat at his wheel. She sat in his armchair, with a book.

She broke the silence easily, clearing her throat and stating boldly, "If I were to have a daughter, I'd name her Beatrice."

Rumpelstiltskin stopped his spinning and looked over at her. "Beatrice?"

Belle shrugged, her cheeks reddening slightly. "It's of Avonlean origin. It means 'voyager'. When I was little, I had such an insatiable case of wanderlust my mother would always joke that she should change my name from Belle to Bea."

_Bea, _Rumpelstiltskin thought. So close to _Bae_. He shut his eyes, his heart beating painfully in his chest. "It's a lovely name," he murmured, looking down at the gold he was spinning.

It glinted in the candlelight, shimmering in the shifting light.

* * *

**Whoo. So yeah. I hope you guys enjoyed. Now, sorry if it was angsty, but you know what they say. You can't have sunshine without a little rain. The rain is over, the sunshine is coming soon. Please review! (:**


	25. Stars to Build the Sky On

**Summary: **"Hear the song when I go to sleep." "In your dreams, you mean?"

**I just have one thing to say; I fudging hate FF right now. This is like my third time trying to upload this stupid chapter -_-**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Once, or the quote, or the song.

* * *

**_Stars to Build the Sky On_**

_Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. _[Robert A. Heinlein]

* * *

His name was Aaron Collins in this world.

She still called him Aldrich, though.

His adoptive mother, at least, was kind. Belle didn't know about his father—he'd died, shortly before the curse had been cast—but his mother, Jessica Collins, was the ever-kind, young, single, doting mother. She frequented the library, reading storybooks like _The Velveteen Rabbit _and _Guess How Much I Love You_, and making idle chitchat with Belle while Aaron flipped through the pages of a book or two, concentrating, trying to decide which one he wanted to check out more. Jessica didn't ostracize her like most of Storybrooke was prone to do, especially after learning she was the little maid who'd taken care of her son in the days before Rumpelstiltskin had given him to her and her husband. They'd lapsed into an easy relationship—a little more than an acquaintanceship, a little less than a friendship—that had been based on small talk and the melodramatics of the town gossip mill.

It was a peaceful existence, Belle admitted, watching the baby boy—now a three-year-old toddler—she'd taken care of for ten days, read and smile and learn within the walls of the library while laughing with his very young, yet extremely kind and opinionated mother. On the days when Baelfire would accompany her to work, he'd play with the child while Belle and Jessica talked.

"Are you ready yet?" Jessica called into the stacks one night, "I'm sure Bae and Mrs. Gold want to lock up."

Belle flushed at the title. After reuniting with Rumpelstiltskin, and after the debacle with her father and the town line, the beauty couldn't bring herself to take on the surname 'French'. So, Ruby had started the rumor that her name was now officially "Belle Gold". They weren't married, but neither she nor Rumpelstiltskin minded her being called "Mrs.". They were already considered married anyway; by Baelfire, by the town. All that was left were the rings, to make it official.

"Oh, it's fine," Belle said, smiling when she saw Aaron run in after his mother's voice, the book _The Velveteen Rabbit_ clutched in his tiny hands. Baelfire trailed after him, a small smile on his face. "It can wait, if he's still picking something out."

Jessica smiled. "Thank you," she said, "Say thank you to Mrs. Gold, Aaron."

Aaron turned to Belle, his sapphire eyes shining. He smiled and nodded, his own version of _thank you_. He handed the book in his arms over to Jessica, before running away again to go search through the stacks. Baelfire sighed and shook his head at the child's boundless energy before following, crouching down beside him as they began to hunt for another book.

Belle stared after the pair, her lips pursed in thought.

"He doesn't say much, does he?"

"You've noticed, huh?" she trailed away, biting her lip as she glanced sideways at her son. "He hasn't started speaking yet, actually. Or—well, he has. He can string together sentences if he wants to, but unfortunately, he doesn't really want to all that often." She cracked a small smile. "He's just a quiet boy. Very…"

"Serious," Belle finished for her, and Jessica laughed lightly. Belle knew exactly what the other woman was talking about—Aldrich had been a serious, good, quiet baby, and it seemed even that hadn't changed.

"Exactly. Serious, that's the word." The two women lapsed into silence and watched as he looked through books. The easy silence was broken by the sudden buzz of Jessica's cell phone. The young woman cursed and shook her head, taking out her cell and scanning the text that had appeared.

Belle frowned when she noticed a crease appearing between the young woman's eyes. "Something wrong?"

"There's an emergency at the hospital, and they're short-handed." She rolled her eyes, and Belle remembered she was a nurse at Storybrooke General. She looked over her shoulder and called for her son. "Aaron! It's time to go! I just hope Ruby's free to take you, geez…"

Belle watched the young mother scramble to type a quick text back, only averting her gaze when Aaron bounded up to the circulation desk again, his blond curls bouncing with his every step. Bae was, yet again, close behind, but looking dead on his feet. The boy was such a help at the library, always helping people find the books they were looking for, he was usually pretty drowsy by the time closing time came around.

He perked up when he heard of the predicament though. Always the helpful, gracious young man, he said, "We can watch him while you're gone, if you want."

Jessica looked up with wide, blinking eyes. "Oh, no… Bae, really. It's fine. It's late. You two probably wanna get home." She looked at the two Golds.

Belle shrugged, deciding to go along with it. "Not really. It's barely eight. Rumpelstiltskin's not usually home until nine, anyway. We're okay with it, really."

Jessica bit her lip, debating. "Well, since Ruby's probably not free, considering it's a Saturday night…" she trailed away, looking Belle in the eye. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," the beauty said with a smile.

"Okay," Jessie said, still a bit unsure, before bending down to look at her son. "A, I'll be back soon, alright? Be good for Bae and Belle." She kissed his cheek before she looked back up at the librarian and her stepson, her smile widening. "I won't be long. If I'm gone for more than an hour, just take him to Granny's. Thanks so much, Belle." And with that said, she jumped up and walked briskly to the door, giving the three of them one last reassuring grin before she was out the door.

Belle waved after her, before looking down at the little boy Bae had just assigned them to look after. He stared back at her, his blue eyes probing and endless.

Belle lifted her gaze back up to Bae, partially annoyed, mostly amused.

"What did you just get us into?"

* * *

Turns out, nothing but a Saturday night spent babysitting.

Aldrich was every inch the well-behaved little boy he had been during the days she'd taken care of him in the Dark Castle. Belle wasn't really sure what had possessed Baelfire to say that _they'd _take care of him, but really, she didn't find herself regretting her decision to go along with it. The three year old wouldn't say anything, wouldn't do anything, other than toddle around the children's section looking at the pictures on the covers of books, until he found one he liked, and then Baelfire would read them to him. Belle watched the two of them at one of the tables, thumbing her way through _The Count of Monte Cristo_, one eye focused on the story, the other focused on the two boys across the room.

So far, they'd managed to pick their way through _The Velveteen Rabbit_, _Goodnight Moon_, and _The Story of Ferdinand_. Aaron had drunk up each tale with a curious expression, not quite paying attention to the pictures in the books as raptly as he had the covers. He would stare off into space as if he were conjuring his own mental pictures of how the story was unfolding.

Bae finally finished the last page of _The Giving Tree_, smiling and turning to the little boy beside him. Aldrich, realizing story-time was over, blinked away whatever he'd been thinking about.

"What story's next?" Bae asked, beginning to look around in an attempt to help. Aldrich looked at the stacks, and then looked at him, shaking his head when he removed _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie _from its place on the shelf. "No?" he said, and Aldrich shook his head. The teenager smiled and knelt down beside him. "Then what?"

The boy stared at him for a moment, as if thinking. He had that curious expression on his face again, as if he were conjuring up images in the back of his head. He smiled suddenly, a light-bulb going off, and grinned, beginning to hum.

Belle recognized the tune immediately.

""A Thousand Years"," she said softly, and Aldrich tilted his head, but kept humming anyway. Baelfire looked up at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What?"

The beauty grinned, setting her book down and beginning her trek towards the two boys, sitting next to Aaron. "It was a song I'd used to sing to him, back at your father's castle, when he couldn't sleep."

Then, realizing Bae had never heard it, she began to sing, beginning the song from the middle, where Aaron's humming currently was, "_I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years. I will love you for a thousand more."_ She hadn't sung this song in over thirty years, not since the Dark Castle—not since she'd accidentally hummed the tune and Rumpelstiltskin asked her to sing it. It had been an embarrassing evening, to say the least, but he'd seemed to enjoy the song.

So did Aldrich. The little boy had stopped humming, coming closer to curl up beside Belle, resting his head of blond curls on her shoulder. Bae was watching the scene transfixed, lulled into relaxation by the soothing melody and pretty lyrics.

_"And all along I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me. I have loved you for a thousand years… I'll love you for a thousand more."_ She dropped into a soothing hum, then, and Bae smiled, coming to sit next to her.

"Hear the song," Aaron mumbled, nearly asleep himself, and Belle nearly started. The voice was unfamiliar, raspy and tiny and tired, but it was unmistakably _Aldrich's_.

"What, honey?" Belle asked gently, brushing away blond curls away from his forehead.

The little boy's eyes were closed, a smile playing on his lips. "Hear the song… when I go sleep."

It took Belle a moment to figure out what he was saying, but when he did, she felt her heart melt a little. _Hear the song when I go sleep._

_I hear the song when I go to sleep._

"In your dreams, you mean?" Belle asked.

Aldrich nodded, his breathing becoming even, sleep claiming him. Belle didn't know what else there was to say, so instead she kept singing, lightly, just so he could hear the melody as he drifted away.

_"And all along I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me—I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more."_ As she sang the last few words, Rumpelstiltskin's voice invaded her mind, whispering words from a lifetime ago.

_"He'll remember you and he'll know he was always loved."_

_"Children know."_

Children know. Was it possible Aldrich remembered her? Belle immediately cast the idea away—no. It was silly. He remembered the song; that was it. There was no way he could remember her. She was a mere blip in his life, and he hadn't made any indication he'd remembered her before tonight. But then why would he ask _her _to sing it…?

The library door opening cut Belle out of her musings, and she looked up when she saw Jessica practically running towards her. Baelfire, who had been lightly dozing by the time the song was done, jerked awake at the sudden noise.

"Whew! Glad I made it. Just in time, too." Belle snuck a glance at the wall clock, which told her it was only eight-fifty. The young mother took Aldrich into her arms. The boy barely stirred; he merely snuggled closer to his mother's warm, familiar form.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble," Jessica said, giving Belle a lighthearted—but tired—smile.

"Oh no, he was an angel," Bae cut in easily, his sentence cut off abruptly by a yawn. "We read a little, learned a new lullaby… must've knocked him out like a light."

"Must have," Jessica mused, adjusting her hold on the child, "But wow. This is amazing, seriously. He loves Ruby and all, but usually she has to tucker him out by chasing him around the living room twelve times to get him to fall asleep. All you did was read him a couple books. Maybe _you _should start babysitting him." She nudged the teenage boy playfully.

"Maybe, huh?" Bae laughed, lighthearted and childlike.

Jessica grinned. "Well, I should get going. Thanks again, both of you. I'll see you later." She turned on her heel, then, striding for the library doors.

Belle watched them, a smile tugging at her lips. She couldn't deny the jealousy that had once prickled under her skin, the little green monster telling her that she would never be a mother to the little baby that had captured her heart so easily. But she couldn't deny the happiness, either. The happiness that had surfaced because _he _was happy. Because he was loved and well-cared for and that he wanted for nothing, just like Rumple had said. Nothing—not even love.

Bae's yawn drew her out of her musings, and she looked sideways at the boy, who grinned sheepishly.

"I'm tired."

"I'll bet. My lullaby is better than any sleeping curse," Belle said with a grin, slinging an arm around her stepson's shoulders.

"Oh definitely," Bae said, stifling another yawn, "Instead of poisoning that apple, Regina should've just recorded your voice." Belle snorted at that, pushing his shoulder playfully. Bae laughed, leaning against the circulation desk as Belle walked away, cleaning up the aftermath of another mildly busy day at work. He watched her, watched the slump in her shoulders, the drag in her step. Someone could've mistaken it as tiredness, but Bae could read his stepmother almost as good as his father and Snow White—which is to say, like an open book.

"Do you want a baby someday, Mama?"

His voice seemed to snap her out of whatever trance she was in, because she looked up from readjusting the books on the shelves. She paused for a moment before replying, her voice thick with some emotion he couldn't place. "I already have two babies, in case you don't remember. Their names are Ruby and Rumpelstiltskin. Not to mention a very handsome, very mature teenage boy named Baelfire."

Bae smiled at her weak attempt to change the subject. "Mama, I'm being serious."

The smile faded from her lips and she sighed, walking towards the circulation desk, leaving the cleaning up for another day. "Maybe someday, I don't know. Not any time soon."

"Why not?" he sounded genuinely curious, looking at her closely. "You'd be an awesome mom. You're already an awesome mom."

Belle smiled. "Thanks for the confidence, Bae, but that's not it. It's…" she gestured around. "Everything. Not too long ago, I dreamt about that. About a child with your father. About all of us, being a family together. But…" she trailed away, taking a deep breath, "There's just too much going on right now. Looking at Aaron, I think I realized that. I want kids. I want you to have a sibling. But not right now. Not when Hook and Cora and your mother are out there, wreaking havoc on innocent citizens. Not when Regina goes all Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on the town and _not _when the Charmings are calling your father in every other hour for a problem they can't be bothered to fix themselves."

She looked up, then, her eyes locking with Bae's. He looked a little worried, but more than understanding, knowing what she meant. She'd already told him on more than one occasion that she'd lock him away from all the magic and evil if she only could. She wouldn't want to bring a child into the world when a war was almost on them.

"One day?" he inquired softly, after a few beats of silence had passed.

Belle paused, gathering her purse and phone from behind the circulation desk. "One day," she murmured, giving her stepson a small smile.

* * *

**Whew. So yeah. Sorry I couldn't make him a legitimate part of the family, but really, I have no idea what to do with a baby. And no real Rumbelle interactions, I know, but at least you get some sweet Belle/Bae/Aldrich. Belle would make such a good mom in my opinion, and I need as many fluffy Belle moments as I can get because seriously, chances are she's going back to the psyche ward in "Tiny". She's already been seen with Nurse Ratched's fairytale twin.**

**Ugh, so anyway. Back to this segment. I'm not happy with it. It feels rushed and a little sloppy, and to be honest, Belle felt detached and out of character. It just wasn't a good situation for me to write about. I think I was freaking out a little too much about what to do with Aldrich to really focus on either Belle or Bae. So sorry!**

**Also, I'm thinking of turning _LLM _into an actual story. The oneshots will remain here, don't worry, but I'm thinking of writing an actual story based off of these one-shots. What do you guys think? It's just that there's so much potential for a plot hidden in these one shots, and I can slowly see one forming.**


	26. Pink

**Summary: **Belle can't remember laundering clothes ever being this hard.

**Alright, another snippet of the "Angry Birds" series, this takes place sometime after "We Are Both", but before "The Crocodile", obviously. **

**I know, kinda early (very early) since posting my last chapter, but I wanted to post this before my Valentine's Day oneshot. Enjoy!**

* * *

**_Pink_**

* * *

Belle looked down at the once-white, priceless button up of Rum's that she'd somehow managed to turn _pink_.

_Pink._

She knew he lived in a pink house, but she'd be willing to bet he wouldn't enjoy _wearing _the color, no matter how flamboyant he was—is—used to be—ugh.

Belle can't remember laundering clothes ever being this hard. She glared at the white, metal monster Rum had called a "washing machine". She would've been better off with a tub and soapy water, but _no_. This was this world's way to do things, apparently.

She glared down at the garment that had done the deed—a little red sock, lying innocent and clean on top of all the pink clothes. She didn't even notice the door to the laundry room open until a familiar Scottish brogue had her looking up.

"Rum," she said dumbly. She was half tempted to toss all the clothes into the dryer and pretend as though nothing had happened, but she knew it wouldn't work. He'd seen the disaster already.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't look particularly angry. As a matter of fact, he almost looked _amused_. Bastard. Chuckling, he walked up and looked at one of his once-white button-ups. "Having problems, darling?"

"You could say that," Belle mumbled. "I miss the Enchanted Forest."

Rum laughed. "Things were certainly… easier, considering we'd grown up there. You'll get the hang of it sweetheart. It just takes a little time."

"Perhaps," Belle said, grabbing the laundry basket, "But I still say you should let me do this in the bathtub."

Rum grinned. "Or maybe you could just let me do the laundry altogether. I know my house is pink, but this—" he gestured to the basket of clothes, "—is just a bit much."

Belle sighed. "I figured you might say that." He was still smiling fondly down at her, which the beauty found odd. So far, she'd done nothing but bring chaos into his house—she'd dismantled his phone, almost burned his house down, and now she'd turned his tidy whities _pink_.

And he was _smiling_.

There was something very wrong with this picture.

"Aren't you mad at me?" she asked tentatively as he picked up one of the few t-shirts he owned, inspecting the pastel-pink color.

"For what?"

For what, he asks. Belle huffed. "Oh, I don't know. For almost destroying your phone. For turning pancakes into charcoal. For turning your under things into something Glinda the Good Witch would wear, instead of the Dark One."

Rumple laughed again; it was one of his real laughs, not his twittery imp laugh or his condescending chuckle. It was one of those rare, full, well-sought-after _laughs_ that made her heart flutter in her chest. "Belle, darling, I'm not mad at you. Never was, never will be. Annoyed at you, maybe. Nervous for you, of course. Scared half out of my wits because of you… all the time." He threw the ruined t-shirt back in the laundry basket. "But not mad. You're in a new, unfamiliar place. And given your curiosity, I didn't expect anything less."

Belle snorted. "Wait—so you _expected _me to destroy your personal possessions?"

Rumple shrugged. "Not destroy," he said lightly, his eyes dancing happily, "Simply… inspect. Unfortunately, your 'inspections' usually end up breaking, maiming, smashing, or making things explode. But luckily, you have me to fix things up when you do."

Belle pretended to gasp in offense, shoving the laundry basket in her true love's arms. "Well, well, well then. Lucky me. I'm free of laundry duty. Have fun, Mr. Fix It."

She laughed at the dumbstruck look on his face, sashaying away from him and out of the laundry room.

Rumple watched her go, rolling his eyes and grabbing the laundry basket. _Alright_, he thought.

He'd had that one coming.

* * *

**Okay, so a few things involving last week's episode and the upcoming episode, "Manhattan".**

**First, poor. Freaking. Ruby. I mean, poor Rumple, too, they're both broken over Belle's memory loss—but seriously, Ruby, BB, omg. That look in her eyes… she looked like she was about to have her own breakdown. I don't know who I love more—Ruby, for being so emotional and heartbreaking, or Meghan Ory, for portraying her so flawlessly.**

**And, about "Manhattan"… so there are some pics out, with Rumple in a soldier uniform (and RC looks so very fine in it, in my opinion) and Milah and Bae. And Milah and Rumple actually look… happy. And… maybe in love. I'm not sure how I feel about this potential new side to Milah, but if she turns into one of those characters I end up sympathizing with against my will, I will be very frustrated.**

**And ugh, as if that's not confusing, there's the whole Baelfire situation. It's getting obvious that Neal and Bae are one in the same, and I'm not sure how to feel about that. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy Neal isn't the douche Emma thought he was, and Swan Thief is totally my second favorite Emma ship. But I'm just really bummed that he's all grown up ): These writers love ripping childhoods away, don't they?**


	27. You Know I Love You, Don't You?

**Summary: **It's Valentine's Day, and Rumpelstiltskin enlists Cupid's help to find Belle the perfect gift. Meanwhile, Belle sees something she wasn't supposed to.

**Come on… it's a Valentine's Day oneshot. You honestly didn't expect me to forgo Coop completely, did you?**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, except the plot.

* * *

**_You Know I Love You, Don't You?  
_**_Please, this ain't even jealousy (jealousy)  
She ain't got a thing on me (a thing on me)  
Tryin' to rock them ugly jeans, jeans, jeans. _[Cher Lloyd, "Want U Back"]

* * *

"You can never go wrong with chocolate, you know."

Rumpelstiltskin started when he heard the soft voice in his ear. He turned and scowled at the owner, who merely grinned at the sour look on his face. It was Coop, Storybrooke's whimsy marriage counselor, and the former Cupid of the Enchanted Forest. Not like anyone knew. The most the townsfolk knew, she was just another face in the seemingly vast crowd of fairytale characters.

The two of them currently stood outside of a little boutique displaying paper mâché hearts in varying colors, large stuffed animals, and giant cards screaming "Happy Valentine's Day!" in calligraphic fonts. He'd been scowling at the display for almost ten minutes, trying to decide what to get Belle. Coop had just exited Granny's when she saw him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Oh, really now?" the Dark One said, eyeing her skeptically.

She shrugged, gave him a smile. "Well, it's a classic, it comes in pretty boxes, it tastes good, and even if she's on a diet or she doesn't like chocolate for some ungodly reason, she won't be opposed to the sentiment." She came up beside him, positively radiant with energy as she stared into the display case. "It all depends on your approach."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. He and the whimsy cupid were hardly what you'd consider _friends_, but they weren't enemies. As a matter of fact, she was probably one of the small handful of people that actually supported his relationship with Belle. Everyone else grudgingly tolerated the odd matchup of Storybrooke's resident beauty and beast.

But, even though the harbinger of true romance had given—for lack of a better term—her _blessing_, Rumple couldn't help but wonder her motives. He and Belle were together—her job was done, as far as the "true loves always find each other" philosophy went. She didn't bother Snow and Charming half this much—why had she taken such an interest in Belle and Rumpelstiltskin?

"Are you helping me?" the imp inquired, honestly curious.

Coop grinned. "Are you letting me help you?"

Rumple sighed. What did he have to lose? He'd wanted to get the perfect gift for Belle—and who better to help them than the harbinger of true love herself? He looked into Coop's eyes, hoping against hope he wasn't making a mistake.

"Why not?"

* * *

"Lunch delivery for a Miss Belle!"

Belle looked up and grinned at the person who'd just entered the library. Ruby matched her smile, ruby red lips pulled up in joy. "Hey, honey. How've you been?" the werewolf dropped a brown paper bag on the countertop, which Belle promptly grabbed and began rifling through.

"Pretty good—it's been a slow day—oh, is this turkey?" she extracted the sandwich from the bag, and her grin grew wider. "I am _starving_."

"I figured you'd be. You still trying to figure out that computer system?" Ruby looked skeptically at the ancient dinosaur of a computer that sat blinking at the edge of Belle's desk.

The beauty rolled her eyes. "It's being stubborn. So—" she tore off a corner of her sandwich, popping it in her mouth, "What're you doing for Valentine's Day?" Despite Belle being locked away for the better part of three decades, she had a vague understanding of this world's customs. She may not have arrived with background knowledge on how to drive a car or completely understand the concept of a flatiron, but she knew enough about the holidays. Christmas was similar to the Yuletide feasts back in the old world, Halloween was just a new way of celebrating All Hallows, and Valentine's Day was another way to worship the supposed demigod of love, Cupid, although one could argue that not much worshipping towards the demigoddess of love went on in this world.

Ruby's cheeks turned pink, and she looked away, fighting a smile. "Dr. Hopper—or, uh, Jiminy—he… well, he asked me out to dinner."

"First date, on Valentine's Day?" Belle grinned, "That's cute."

Ruby giggled, her cheeks returning back to their normal color. "So, what about you, then? Have any plans with your jailer?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Ever since day one, Ruby had not bought the excuse that her friend and the infamous Rumpelstiltskin and stuck to the "taking it slow" plan. "You exude way too much sexual tension", she'd said with a huff, rolling her eyes when Belle had first mentioned their plans for the future.

Belle shrugged, fighting her own smile. "Well, we were planning on dinner, maybe a night in or something. We could watch a movie, maybe. Things have been pretty quiet, lately, and we both want to savor it."

Ruby smiled distractedly, happy for her friend yet lost in her own thoughts of her own date, later that evening, looking sideways out the window. What she saw made her eyes widen and her mouth part in surprise. "You may want to think twice about that dinner, sweetheart."

Belle's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?" she followed Ruby's gaze out the window—

And zoned in on Rumpelstiltskin, helping another woman into his car.

* * *

"She's going to love the gift, don't worry."

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, looking over at Coop. She was eyeing him encouragingly, her smile blindingly bright and wide. They were outside her house, lapsed into a discussion involving the gift that was currently weighing his pocket down.

"Why do you care so much about what happens to me and Belle?" his question was genuinely curious, something he'd wondered about for years, ever since that fateful day when she'd come to his estate to reclaim her arrows. "I'm the Dark One, the evil one, the chosen one, aren't I? Aren't you supposed to be nicking her with your arrows right now, trying to get her as far as you can from the big, bad beast?"

Coop smiled. "That's what a smart woman would do, isn't it? It's what a Cupid who was reared by the Blue Fairy would believe; it's what a Cupid who held the notion that what's _best _and what's _right _are the same things would do. But I'm not like that, and you know why? Because I know, better than anyone, how to read a person's heart. And I could tell what kind of heart beat underneath the skin of a beast, and I know who you are will bring that girl nothing but happiness."

Rumple snorted. "Really? And who's that? The Dark One? Or the coward hiding underneath?"

Coop's smile never faltered. "The man I know you can be." She winked, stepping out of the car. "Now, go get her, tiger," she said, grinning a bit before slamming the car door shut and stalking towards her front door. Rumple watched her go, the weight of the velvet box in his pocket seeming to get lighter and lighter with every passing moment.

He sighed. He hoped she was right.

* * *

"It's probably just some sort of misunderstanding," Ruby said soothingly as Belle sulked. Really—that _had _to be it. It was a shocker that _Belle _had given Rumpelstiltskin the time of day—the thought that any other girl would consider giving the man a shot was simply ludicrous in Ruby's opinion. _Especially _if he had a girl like _Belle's _heart in the palm of his hand—metaphorically speaking, of course.

"But where were they _going_?" Belle moaned, looking down at her sweet tea dejectedly. She told herself there was no way Rumpelstiltskin would cheat on her—they loved each other too much—but who was that _girl_? And why was she in his car and where were they going, and, and…

_And there were just way too many questions._

"Maybe it was a deal or something," Ruby said, but winced as soon as the words were out. That actually sounded worse than the "he was cheating" explanation, if it was possible.

Belle groaned and slammed her forehead against the top of her desk, feeling her heart get heavier with every passing second. This was not happening. There was a perfectly logical explanation as to why—

The squealing of tires outside made Belle look up, catching sight of Rum's Cadillac as it skid to a halt outside.

"Well, there's the cheat now," Ruby growled, whipping her head around to face the source of the noise. Belle saw her friend's eyes flash gold and winced. They were way too close to the full moon to be doing this.

"Ruby, go home. I've got this."

"Belle—"

"I've got this." Belle wasn't afraid of confronting Rumpelstiltskin. If anything, she was afraid to learn the potentially crushing truth. But she wasn't afraid of him, and she probably never would be.

Ruby looked over her friend worriedly for a second, before nodding slowly. "Okay. But I want _all _the details when it's all said and done. And if you don't call me I'm assuming he's murdered you to keep you quiet and I'm calling the sheriff." Belle laughed at Ruby's poor attempt at a joke, watching as she sauntered away from the circulation desk and towards the door.

On the way out, she passed Rumpelstiltskin. She growled at the Dark One, her eyes flashing gold once again. Rumple stopped in his tracks, eyes wide in a mixture of surprise and apprehension. "You break her heart, I break your face. I don't care how much magic you have," Ruby growled, pushing her way past him and out the door.

Rumpelstiltskin stood there for a moment, simply stunned at the werewolf's audacity, before shaking himself out of it and limping over to where Belle was gathering her stuff, getting ready to leave.

"Hey."

"Hey," she said, her voice terse. He frowned, ducking his head in an attempt to catch her eye.

"Hey—hey, sweetheart. What's the matter?"

She paused for a moment, sucking in a deep breath. _Now or never. Do the brave thing. _She looked up, her blue eyes positively blazing. "Is there someone else?" She hadn't really intended it to sound so… melodramatic, but her voice caught at the end of the sentence and she swallowed down the lump that had appeared in her throat.

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes widened. Was she… was she being _serious_? "Excuse me?"

Feeling emboldened by his bewildered response, she pushed through. He seemed to be confused, but who knew. He was a master of manipulation. "I want you to tell me… if you're seeing someone else. I saw you help a woman into your car, this afternoon, and it didn't look like anyone I know, and I don't want to sound like that kind of girlfriend who needs to know who her boyfriend's with every second of every day, but I need to know, and…" and now she was rambling. Belle snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her, openmouthed, eyes wide. _She was being serious_. Before he could stop himself, he grinned, a laugh bubbling out of his throat at the silliness of it all. _She _thought _he _was… oh, gods. He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his grin.

Belle was far from pleased. Her face reddened even more, her blue eyes narrowing in anger. "Rumple! This isn't funny! I won't be your second choice!" Her voice had lost all traces of her earlier vulnerability, rising and morphing into a voice fit for royalty.

Rumple chuckled one last time, turning his head away so she wouldn't see the sparkle in his eye—no doubt that would only upset her more. "Belle," he said slowly, trying to maintain his calm, "Darling… I'm not cheating on you, trust me."

Belle blinked a few times, and then she just stared at him, as if she was trying to detect a lie. Sensing no dishonesty, she let her shoulders relax. "O-oh… well, of course, I—I knew that." She looked away. "So, was she one of your clients, then?" Maybe it _was _just a deal, like Ruby had said. It seemed pretty shady, even for Rumpelstiltskin, but it seemed the most plausible, now that she knew he wasn't sneaking around on her.

"No," Rum said, still smiling. Belle frowned. Her uneasiness faded, but now all she felt was confusion. If he wasn't cheating, and she hadn't been a client, then…

As if reading the look on her face, he laughed again, taking a box out of his suit pocket. "I was going to wait until _after _dinner to give this to you, but now seems like the right time. Who you saw was an old acquaintance of mine; Coop. You may know her as Cupid. She was helping me pick out a gift for you."

Belle felt her face go aflame again. She looked down, scrubbing her face with her hands. "Well, I feel stupid," she said, looking up when she realized something. "And… did you say _Cupid_?" When he nodded, her jaw dropped. "Why am I surprised you're friends with Cupid? You know _everybody_." She looked down at the box he'd offered her. It was small, black, velvet, obviously containing jewelry, and Belle felt her heart stutter in her chest. "Rum, this isn't…?"

"Depends on what you think it is," he quipped lightly, leaning over the counter. "I'm not exactly fit to get on one knee or anything, but you can use your imagination for this." He opened the ring box, the diamond inside shimmering brilliantly in greeting as it met Belle's eyes.

"Will you marry me?" He thought he'd feel stupid, saying it, but being here, he didn't feel anything but fear. Before she'd lost her memory, Belle had wanted to go slow. Since regaining those memories, they'd accelerated into an almost unacceptable speed; she'd moved back in with them, they'd taken their relationship to the _next level_, they'd even discussed having children someday, since Baelfire—or Neal, as he went by now—was all grown up and trying to patch things up with Emma.

But now he had doubts. Maybe marriage was where she crossed the line.

Belle stared at the ring for a moment, mouth dry and unsure of what to do—"yes" sat on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn't verbalize it. So, instead, she stood, walked out from behind the counter until she was standing in front of him, and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

Rumple made a noise of surprise and contentment, one of his hands weaving into her mane of curls, tilting her head back to get better access to her mouth. His other hand cupped her hip, and her arms had looped around his neck, anchoring him firmly in place.

"I'll take that as a yes?" he chuckled when they broke apart, both of them fighting for air.

Belle grinned, still breathing heavy. "It's a yes." She detangled herself from her true love, then, plucking the ring out of the ring box and slipping it onto her finger before grabbing her cell phone. Rumple watched her with curious eyes.

"Who are you calling?"

"Ruby," Belle answered breathlessly, eyes trained and admiring the ring on her finger.

_"Hello?" _Ruby's voice said, clearly distracted. _"Belle? Are you okay? Do I need to cancel my dinner with Archie—"_

"Don't you dare!" Belle snapped, "But there is something I can't wait to tell you…"

* * *

**Honestly, I've been itching to do this kind of a oneshot for a while. Belle jealous. Getting Rumple jealous sounds easy enough—but Belle? It seems kind of hard to get under her skin. Even when Hook was goading her, she still thought the best about Rumple.**

**Also, this was written under the pretense that Bae is Neal. I'm not exactly happy about it (I want my teen!Bae/Gold/Belle family fluff, damn it) but I figured I should at least start getting open to the idea. I'm not even really opposed to it. I'm just mourning the loss of my family fluff. I'm pretty sure I'll grow on it, though. And besides, I'm pretty sure I'll start choking on fluff once I get the LLM story started and the story layouts completed.**


	28. The Lucky Ones

**Summary: **Gabbe and Mr. Gold talk about true love, soulmates, and luck.

**Yes, another lost snippet from "Over the Hills".**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything!

* * *

**_The Lucky Ones_**

_And then my soul saw you and then it kind of went, "Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you." _[Unknown]

* * *

"C'mon, Gabs."

"I said _no_, Galen."

Mr. Gold furrowed his eyebrows as he listened to the exchange—whatever he'd been expecting to hear this early in the morning, his whimsy shop assistant arguing with her handsy douche of an ex-boyfriend wasn't it.

"Come on, Gabbe," Galen pushed. He was leaning over the countertop, one hand smudging the formerly shiny glass case, the other reaching for Gabbe's hand. The pawnbroker felt his eye twitch.

Gabbe looked less than amused as she glared at the boy, blue eyes fiery and furious, snatching her hand away. "What part of 'no, I will not go out with you' do you not understand?"

Galen frowned. Obviously, his amusement was waning as well. "Come on, Gabs, I know you miss me—"

"Um, excuse me? I broke up with _you_, in case you forgot. Not the other way around. So stop poisoning yourself with this sick fantasy that I somehow _want you_. I never wanted you. I only went out with you because my father threatened me with more speeches about how I would die an old maid." She began to angrily stack papers. "So _get out_."

Galen opened his mouth to say something else, but was abruptly cut off by Mr. Gold clearing his throat. The mechanic turned around to face the intimidating pawnshop owner. "Mr. Hawthorne," the lawyer said briskly, "If you're quite finished harassing my employee?"

Galen scowled, but responded to the unspoken warning and left the counter, walking out the door. Gold waited until the shop door slammed shut before returning his attention to Gabriella. Her blue eyes were still wild with her anger, her cheeks flushed with fury.

It was quite a becoming look on her, actually.

"All right, love?" he asked. She was the only person he called 'love', and Gabbe wasn't really sure why. She entertained herself with the unlikely idea that he fancied her as she did him, but brushed the thought away as quickly as it came. She was nothing more than a silly child in his eyes.

"I'm okay," she replied hesitantly, looking him squarely in the eye. "Galen was just being… Galen. Asked me out for the millionth time this week." She frowned. "But he was freakishly persistent today. Practically followed me from my apartment all the way here." She shivered.

Mr. Gold pushed down the unhealthy surge of protectiveness that had suddenly welled up inside him, brushing it off as nothing more than him being her concerned employer. "Would you like me to call the sheriff? Because, you know, I'm sure Graham would be more than happy to throw Mr. Hawthorne into a cold, tiny cell. And I would be more than happy to make the call."

Gabbe giggled. "I'm sure you would be, Mr. G," she replied, moving from behind the counter to make room for her employer. Gold took his usual place behind the counter, and Gabbe took hers, sitting on a stool and watching him intently. She'd finally finished the cataloguing she'd been doing for the three months yesterday, and now she had nothing to do except the occasional dusting and manning the shop when he went out to collect rent.

They sat in an easy silence for a little while, Gold's mind—and eyes—wandering over to his shop assistant as she made herself comfortable, snatching a coffee-stained paperback from her purse—most likely borrowed from Ruby, he thought, because there was no way Gabbe would treat a book so abysmally. Even now, she was caressing the spine as if it were a traumatized child, handling the old paper delicately between her fingertips.

Gold wondered when his feelings towards his little assistant had turned from platonic and friendly to lustful and longing. She was a beautiful, young, vivacious woman who had a reputation for being both intelligent and fierce. At first, she'd been nothing more than a pitiful child who needed the extra help—a child he'd reluctantly respected. For as far back as his memory would take him, Gabriella French had been more of a parent than her own gambler alcoholic of a father was.

After hiring her, he began to see her true colors. He saw she wasn't just a disciplined girl who had to stay strong in the face of a deadbeat dad and a mother who was just dead. She was a young woman with real dreams—dreams of seeing the world and becoming a photographer for _National Geographic_ or some other magazine of the sort. A woman who'd had all those dreams ripped away when her father couldn't pay his bills. A woman who gave everything up, who moved back to this provincial town, who looked after that father until he was back on his feet, and kept an eye on him for a while after that.

It was then, Gold supposed, that his feelings for her had shifted, when he saw there was more than meets the eye. She wasn't a child forced to grow up too fast—she was a woman stronger than anyone in this town imagined.

He was broken out of his musings when he heard a soft sigh, looking back over at his assistant to see she'd closed the book and set it down in her lap, a contented smile on her face. "Done already?" he inquired, smirking. She'd only _just _gotten the book yesterday. It amazed him—as it always did—how fast of a reader she was. She could speed through a novel in a day; two days, if the book was particularly long.

"It was a good book," she defended with a smile, putting the book back in her handbag and turning to face him. She bit her lip, unwilling to look him in the eyes as she said, "Can I ask you a question?"

He shrugged. "I believe you just did, love."

Gabbe smiled, but ignored him. "Do you believe in soulmates?"

He quirked an eyebrow. Soulmates? "As in, two halves of one whole, two people who are meant to be together, for the rest of time?"

She nodded, flushing slightly.

Gold shrugged. "I guess you could say that. I believe there's someone out there for everyone. But I also believe you're lucky as hell if you manage to find them."

"Lucky, huh?" Gabbe inquired, raising her eyebrows at him. They were looking straight into each other's eyes, both searching for something and not finding anything. "Were you ever the lucky one, Mr. G?"

The question took him by surprise. He blinked at her for a moment before shrugging. "I'm not really sure yet. You?"

Gabbe smiled. She knew what he was thinking—what he was saying. What he was trying to ask. They'd danced around each other for months, and now it looked like that dance would be coming to a close, very soon. She matched his shrug, her eyes dancing.

"I'm not really sure yet."

* * *

**How dare Once Upon a Time do what it did last episode to my heart. How dare they. How DARE THEY. They need to go sit in a corner and think about what they did, because I was seriously questioning the purpose of feelings on Sunday when all they do is make me feel like an elephant sat on my heart. I thought I was going to hate the Neal-is-Bae-"big"-reveal, but I loved it. I just… ugh. My feels. My heart. I hate emotions. And then as if that's not bad enough we get a teary Neal next episode and Hook stabs Rumple. I swear this show will be the death of me.**

**My only complaint is the uber-annoying and unnecessarily suspenseful Regina/Cora/Hook scenes. Forgive me if you like any of them (I was actually becoming quite fond of Regina) but seriously, they all just piss me off when they're in the same room. I'm sorry, it's just way too much evil and not enough awesome. Rumpelstiltskin has set my expectations for villains way too high.**

**Anyway, I don't really know what that was. This is set a few weeks before Gabbe gets shipped to the asylum. I might do a part two to this, where Belle and Rumpelstiltskin discuss "the lucky ones", not just Gold and Gabbe, as a sort of closure. Something tells me that just leaving you with the knowledge Gold and Gabbe are just about to act on their feelings right before Gabbe's death is faked by the mayor is like having Emma kiss Graham and then… well, you know. **


	29. My Way Home is Through You

**Summary: **She wonders why he cares so much; he wonders what the hell she's doing at The Rabbit Hole.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Once, or the quote!

* * *

**_My Way Home is Through You_**

_He made me feel unhinged… like he could take me apart and put me back together again and again. _[Chelsie Shakespeare]

* * *

It had been six days since he'd returned from Manhattan and he was driving—driving far and fast, his brown eyes roving past the aftermath of a rainy day in Maine, trying to see in the gloom. He clutched his cell phone in one hand as he barreled down avenues and streets and suburbs, looking for a girl in a skimpy black dress.

Ruby's words were still ringing in his ears as he tore down rain-slicked streets, knowing he was being reckless but hardly bothering to care. Over the past six days, he'd avoided Belle, knowing she probably harbored some less-than-friendly feelings towards him—and really, who could blame her? All she knew him as was the strange man with the—now broken—chipped cup and ability to create fireballs.

He hadn't seen her, even after her recent release from the hospital, but that didn't mean he hadn't been thinking about her. Just as he'd devoted himself to breaking the curse surrounding the town line, he'd devoted himself to breaking Belle's curse. Ruby had been spending more and more time with her, giving him detailed reports every time he decided to go to Granny's for a quick breakfast.

_She's fine, _Ruby would say, _as fine as she can be._

She left him texts, sometimes, too, having gotten his phone number off Belle's. Just quick little snips before visiting hours ended, things like, _she's asleep_, or, _she ate today_, or, most notably, _she stopped asking about the magic._

Good, he'd thought, when he'd read that message. It hurt, to have Belle so in the dark about their lives, not knowing what was going on or who anyone was. But it was better to have her stop questioning the magic, considering her newfound phobia towards it, to have her safe in the hospital, away from the ever-constant danger of Hook and Cora and Regina.

But she wasn't in the hospital now. No, now, according to Ruby, she was out roaming the Never Streets, the most despicable parts of Storybrooke one could imagine. This part of town could be easily compared to every slum and Dark crevice of the Enchanted Forest, all squished together in one little corner of ill-repute.

Rumpelstiltskin slowed his Cadillac down by the Rabbit Hole, one of the bars. _She _was there, sitting on the curb, staring at a cigarette burning between her fingertips, as if she didn't know what to do with it. She didn't look up when he stopped his car, when he got out, when he approached her.

She didn't even look up when he spoke.

"Ruby's been looking for you, you know."

She didn't say anything; didn't sigh, didn't move, didn't even bother to look guilty. She just gave a small, noncommittal shrug, as if her friend's hysterics over her whereabouts were the least of her problems. She let her cigarette drop to the ground, stomping it flat with the toe of the high heels she wore.

"Ruby shouldn't worry about me. I'm a big girl."

"Really?" the words were harsher than he intended, and he was immediately torn between wishing he could take them back, and hoping his tone had struck a chord of _something _within her. "Because to me, you look like a little girl trying to play the part of a big girl."

The girl's eyes narrowed, and she turned to glare at him. Her lips were cracked and chapped from the wind, and her eyes were dark, both with eye-shadow and circles from lack of sleep. "Oh, really?" she sniped, "And you know so much about me?"

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. She was brave and snippy and stubborn. She was still Belle, but she was so damaged, too—cracked porcelain, as chipped as the cup she'd broken.

"I know more than you think, sweetheart," he said softly, limping over to where she sat. He held out a hand. "Get up. It's cold."

She stared at his hand for a moment, before licking her lips and lacing her freezing fingers through his warm ones, allowing him to pull her up. He was deceptively strong, all sinewy muscle under the cover of a crippled fifty-something year old man.

"Why do you care so much about what happens to me?" she asked suddenly, looking up into his warm brown eyes. The look in those depthless orbs struck her for some odd reason, making her knees go week. "Why do you even care? I'm nothing to you; I'm just some slut, for all you know. Some crazy fucking bitch who goes skulking around The Rabbit Hole for booze and a good shag the second she's released from the hospital." She wasn't yelling, but she was angry, he could tell. She wanted to know why he cared so damn much about her, why he even looked twice at her.

He regarded her calmly, seemingly unfazed by the sheer intensity of her voice and the raw pain in her eyes. "I care," he said slowly, "Because I love you, and I want you safe. I care because I know this isn't you. I care because I know you're just confused and hurt and wondering what the hell is going on with your life. And I know you don't remember me. I know, for all you know, that I'm just some crazy magic-wielding bastard who kissed you in your sleep." He smiled weakly, "But it's true. I love you, and I know you, and I don't want you hurt."

She blinked, truly at a loss for words, two tears snaking their way down her cheeks. She wasn't sure why she was crying, or when her eyes had begun to sting, but they had, and now the waterworks just wouldn't stop. She searched his eyes, trying to find some hint of insincerity, something that could tell her he was just messing with her, but all she saw was honesty. She had this uncanny knack for reading people, and this man—this strange, magic-man—seemed to be nothing but truthful.

"Did I love you back?"

The question caught him off-guard, and mentally, she smirked, because that seemed like a pretty hard thing to do. After a minute or so of processing the question, he chuckled, his own eyes getting glassy. "You did."

She nodded. She expected that much. With the way he made her feel—funny, almost… guilty. Like he'd given her something important, and when she lost her memory, she lost that, too. She thought it was his heart.

"So I suppose you're going to turn me into Ruby now?" she asked suddenly, looking at him expectantly. Ruby had become somewhat like a big sister these past few days, always checking on her and making sure she was okay. It had become a bit suffocating, but she supposed she could understand where the waitress was coming from. After all, it had to be hard, leaving your amnesic best friend to her own devices.

The man shrugged. "I don't know. Am I? Like you said, you're a big girl."

She laughed. "I thought I was only playing that part?" She began walking to his car, pausing only long enough to say, "Maybe not Ruby. I can call her tomorrow. Maybe you can just drive me to my place, and on the way, tell me all about… well, you. And me. And… us."

He blinked. Was she…? It was the beginnings of trust if he'd ever heard it, and quite a big leap, considering where they'd been only a week before. She was letting him take her home, _and _giving him a chance to explain himself.

"I—alright," he stammered, following after her with wide, blinking eyes and a slight stumble in his step.

She giggled, pausing at the passenger's side door. "Yeah, I want to know _everything _about my life before this." She gestured around. "Starting with your name. I still don't know it, you know."

Rumpelstiltskin paused on his way to the driver's side, stopping in front of her. "I'm Mr. Gold, or Rumpelstiltskin," he said slowly, "But you can call me Rumple." Baby steps, he reminded himself. One step at a time, they'd grow and flourish, and maybe one day, they could get to where they used to be.

"Rumple, huh?" she said, and grinned.

He nodded. "And what about you? I know you hate being called Belle."

She cracked a small smile. The name sounded familiar, like that of an old friend, but it wasn't hers. At least, she thought it wasn't hers. "It's not—at least, I don't think it is. But, until I can make my mind up, you can call me Lacey." She stuck out her hand.

Rumpelstiltskin grasped it in his own.

"Nice to meet you, Lacey."

* * *

**GAH. Alright, so, this is based off of those onset pics of Emilie and Bobby floating around Tumblr. It's so cute and it leaves you with so many feels… and questions. Oh so many questions… questions like, "Belle, dafuq. Y u dress like cursed-Ruby? Stahp."**

**And by the way, about Lacey (if that does turn out to be Belle's SB persona) OMG. I love that name. The second I read that name, I fell in love with it. I approve. I approve on so many levels. And if it doesn't turn out to be her name… sorry for making this weird with so many different versions of Belle's counterpart.**


	30. And as You Lift Your Eyes to the Sun

**Summary: **The baker's daughter, the miller's daughter, the duke's daughter. Their eyes whispered stories, but Belle's were the brightest ever told.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own OUAT, or "Center of Attention". All rights go to their respective owners.

* * *

**_And as You Lift Your Eyes to the Sun_**

_I'll take my time if you want to; and I'll give you whatever you need. And I'll wait a lifetime to give it to you… give it to you. _["Center of Attention", Jackson Waters]

* * *

Milah was the baker's daughter.

He remembered the day they'd met. It was a day he both loved and hated, the day he met the woman who gave him the best and worst things in his life. The gift of a son and the curse of a coward.

They were young, barely brushing sixteen. She was pretty, with a heart-shaped face and cascading black curls and eyes—oh, her eyes. They were so bright and happy, two deep milky chocolate depths that contrasted nicely with his gold-flecked ones.

Their courtship was tentative and lovely, a whirlwind romance that left them both breathless and wondering, three years after their first meeting. For five years, they were wed, living happily. They forgot the shame his father had brought him, she forgot the pain her husband felt at being abandoned.

And then came the war, and the Seer, and the cows and a hammer and Bae. And for a moment, it seemed perfect—he was alive and safe with his beautiful wife and son, and then…

_Then_.

Then he'd seen her eyes. The pretty milk-chocolate depths had darkened and hardened until they were unrecognizable. One word resonated through him, and she hadn't even said it yet. Her eyes whispered the tale, the coldest story ever told.

_Coward._

* * *

Cora was the miller's daughter.

She'd been a desperate soul, then, humiliated and broken and desperate for love and for recognition. He'd taken advantage of that desperation, played on the darkness hiding behind her eyes—her curiously angry, black eyes.

They played each other and they used each other for so many months, neither of them realized when they'd fallen for each other. He only realized it in her dressing room, watching her in her yellowing wedding dress (_not white, never white; Cora would never be that pure, never again_) and wanting to claim her as his own.

He wanted to take her, to hide her away like any good beast would do. He didn't want to be a married woman's lover. He just wanted _her_. And she did, too—he could feel it, feel it with her tender touches, hear it with her hisses of _want _and _power _and _rage_.

See it in her eyes, the eyes that were as dark as the night sky. The eyes that spoke of pain, and betrayal. The eyes that told the tragedy of a woman who felt too much, who cared too much.

She wanted him—she _loved _him, even, monster to monster, beast to beast—but she wanted her power more. And, looking back on it, he wondered if he should've seen it coming. Magic is power, and power was seductive—he should know. He was weak once, as weak as Cora, and he'd clung to his power so tight he'd lost his son in the fray.

Why had he been so surprised, then, when Cora had chosen magic over him?

* * *

Belle was the duke's daughter.

She'd been desperate—as desperate as they come. It was not the first time a duchy had called upon the almighty _Dark One_ to save their people from a war or ogres, or both.

But it had been the first time he'd seen a _little girl _do the summoning. She'd been no older than twenty-four at the time (an old maid to her people, a mere child to him), tearstained and begging. He'd hung upside-down from the rafters, watching her, watching those blue eyes fill with tears when an hour passed and he still hadn't made himself known.

In the end, it was those eyes that had broken his resolve. Oh, sure, he could allow selfish kings and greedy dukes die all he liked, but he would not allow this _innocent _to die by the hands of the ogres that had ruined his life, once upon a time.

A long time ago, he'd told someone that nothing was ever innocent. Well, he'd been wrong. Belle had been the most innocent thing his three-hundred-year-old eyes had ever seen. She was all brightness and good, a lone goddess trapped within the body of a desperate girl.

She was moonlight when his skies got too dark; a candle burning bright when he stayed up too late. She was a brief flicker of light within an ocean of darkness.

She was the sunlight, filtering in through the drapes he'd nailed around his heart. She'd torn those drapes down—forced him to bare his very bones to her, tore the tough skin of the monster away until the nervous spinner that Milah had destroyed was the only thing left.

And once he'd realized that, the rosy-hued dream of _happily ever after _shattered and he'd grabbed her, every inch the beast Cora had once seduced. He'd shaken her and yelled at her, dug his talons in the soft skin of her arms before throwing her away, like Milah and Cora had thrown him away. He gave her a chance, he let her go, something he should've done with the baker's daughter. With the miller's daughter. He'd let her go before she let him go.

But she'd come back. Even after he cast her out, she'd come back. She'd beat the odds, crawled through Hell, endured an evil queen, a judgmental father, and two incidents of curse-induced amnesia, and still… she'd managed to find her way back.

Not to destroy him, he'd realize, years after they left Storybrooke and found themselves back at the Dark Castle—but to heal him.

* * *

**Alright, so, I liked the concept, but I couldn't bring myself to do a really nice, tied-together ending. Sorry! I'm suffering from some bad writer's block, and I have a boatload of relatively good ideas that I just can't seem to put down to paper. Either way, I hope you guys like it!**

**My review on _The Miller's Daughter_; and here, after Chip, I thought Rumbelle couldn't destroy me any more than it already has. And yet, somehow, Jane Espenson finds a way. ****I also want to hug Regina to bits and pieces, and kill Cora all over again. All the girl wanted was a little bit of love, and Cora could've given that, if she wasn't stupid and power-hungry and ripped out her own freaking heart.** And speaking of CORA - oh god, Cora. 

**I love Rose McGowan, and thought she was a perfect casting choice, so hooray for that. But that "Golden Hearts" stuff I definitely could've done without - we all understand that Robert Carlyle and any character he plays are beyond sexy, but seriously. Just... no. I couldn't. It was just not my chipped cup of tea. Too much sexyness that I didn't want to be sexy.**

**Now, to compensate for the grossness that is Corastlitskin, we should get a hot Gold/Lacey scene of the same caliber. Preferably in the back room of the pawnshop, or up against Gold's Cadillac. Who agrees?**

**Anyway, ending rant... now.**


	31. Just Enjoy the Music

**_Just Enjoy the Music_**

**Summary: **Because Rumbelle is far too complicated for just _one _OTP theme song.

**A/N: Ohh my god, I'm so sorry I took so long updating this. At first it was writer's block, and then it was other fandoms, and then it was just pure laziness, but I haven't given up on this collection yet, I promise! And this—this chapter is mainly just something to post while I fix up some other oneshots I've started—all 30 of them. And oh, you think I'm exaggerating? I'm honestly, truthfully not. There are almost 30 unfinished oneshots all crammed together in a word document on my desktop.**

**Anyway, enough of my jabbering. Honestly, half of these segments I didn't even know what to do. I just put my iPod on shuffle and used the first ten songs that came up. And some of them were cool, I had fun with a couple. And the Bae one—I had a _lot _of fun with that one. I wasn't originally going to add him in there, but the song was just too good not to. Also, since I apparently love angst and broken feelings accompanying the Lacey storyline, she's a bit more than a sociopathic barfly. Just fair warning.**

**Anyway, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own OUAT, or any of the songs used in this fic.

* * *

_Every song ends; is that any reason not to enjoy the music? _[One Tree Hill]

* * *

**Come Back, Be Here – Taylor Swift  
**_(I guess you're in New York today, and I don't wanna need you this way)_

She stares at her hands and thinks of him, that strange brown-eyed man, her most frequent visitor, according to Ruby.

The one in New York, also according to Ruby. Looking for someone—his son, was what the friendly waitress had told her, and Belle—not-Belle—she didn't know who she was anymore—should have been relieved.

Not sad. Not angry. Not… lonely.

Especially not that last one. She was surrounded by people every day. Doctors, nurses, Ruby, Mary Margaret, even Leroy and Emma. She was hardly _alone_.

_But lonely and alone are two very different things._

Belle—not-Belle—swallowed. Her hands fisted in the crisp, hospital-issued bed sheets.

She did _not _miss him; that strange magic-man with his beseeching eyes, his questions for another girl from another life. A life that wasn't hers, not anymore. She didn't miss him. She didn't.

Or—she didn't _want to_.

* * *

**Catalyst – Anna Nalick  
**_(So I'm taking these pills for to fill up my soul, and I'm drinking them down with cheap alcohol, and you'd be inclined to be mine for the taking… and part of this terrible mess that I'm making)_

She's drunk again.

And he knows—he _knows _this isn't Belle. It's Lacey. Sick, sad, damaged Lacey, screaming and crying at all the injustices of this world through the voice of a shattered young woman. And he wants nothing more than to drag Regina out by the hair and toss her into the nearest volcano for putting his true love through this.

But he can't, and he won't, so instead he just grabs his thrashing girlfriend—_is that what they'd been reduced to, really? Boyfriends and girlfriends and petty little fights at three o'clock in the morning?_—and tugs her to his chest until her screams dissolve into soul-wrenching sobs.

"Why do you care?" she screeches, fighting that same old fight, pounding her fists against his chest, "Why do you care about me so _fucking _much? I'm no one, I'm _nothing_! I'm just some sick bitch, why—do—you—_care_?" She punctuates each grinding of a word with a punch that knocks the wind from his lungs.

He knows that when she's sober, she's not going to remember any of this. Or maybe she will, and she'll just sweep it all under the rug like it never happened. And he loves this girl—both versions of her—so much, and it aches because he _doesn't want her hurting like this_. He doesn't want her feeling the darkness she feels under this curse. It's not Belle, and that rage in those eyes is just… _wrong_.

He doesn't want any of this for her, but he has no idea how he can take any of it away. So he just holds her tight while she cries and sobs nonsense words, until she eventually screams herself to sleep. He rocks her gently in his arms and prays to the gods he doesn't believe in for some kind of miracle.

Not for him—he doesn't deserve it.

For her. She does.

Anything to end this pain.

* * *

**Moonshine – Sara Haze**  
_(Boy take my hand, let's disappear; too many city lights 'round here. Follow my heart into the trees, under the stars)_

She's already waiting for him by the Cadillac when he closes up the pawnshop.

He smiles down at her, this precious girl. "Did you close up the library early for little ol' me?"

"Oh, yeah," she says coyly, snatching his keys from his hands. "And _I'm _driving!"

He swallows, because she's not really the best driver in the world, but the streets are mercifully empty as she swerves along streets and avenues until finally, she's on the road leading away from town. "Something in the woods, dearie?"

"Just a surprise," she says mysteriously, and he wants to tell her he hates surprises unless _he's _the one doing the surprising, but she shoots him a look and he snaps his mouth shut. He'll let her have this.

They stop at the base of a hill, deep in the forest, and even though it takes them both a significant amount of time to get to the top of grassy knoll due to his limp, he has to admit it's worth it when they finally get there. She's seems to have found the Storybrooke version of Firefly Hill back in the Enchanted Forest.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she breathes, looking at the lightening bugs zooming around them.

His eyes don't leave her awestruck face as he answers. "Yeah, it is."

* * *

**Sad Beautiful Tragic – Taylor Swift  
**_(In dreams I meet you in warm conversation. We both wake in lonely beds different cities, and time is taking its sweet time erasing you… and you've got your demons, and, darling, they all look like me)_

He's the Dark One. He doesn't usually sleep, but on the rare night he does, he dreams of her.

Her face. Round, porcelain skinned, full of vivacious life and laughter, her red cheeks a testament to her youth and the beautiful blood flowing through her veins. Sometimes she speaks, usually she doesn't, but she is always smiling at him. And he doesn't know why. Even in his dreams, she is such a mystery.

He is torn, quite abruptly from a dream of her when the curse is finally enacted. A part of him thrills in the purple smoke that's quickly enveloping the dungeon, but another part of him fights—viciously, too, if he does say so, himself.

He knows it's only temporary amnesia. He has that failsafe, after all. The little savior sent through the worlds. But that doesn't stop his heart from stuttering and faltering, panicking as _her _face fades from his head. He grapples for her image, desperate to keep it close. He can't forget. Not her. Anyone but her. Please, please, please.

And then he is bolting up in bed, chest heaving, a new man.

He doesn't remember why there are tears on his cheeks.

* * *

**Wait For You – Elliott Yamin  
**_(If it takes the rest of my life, I'll wait for you.)_

He always underestimates her strength. Even as he leaves her there, on a Storybrooke dock, he's left dumbstruck.

A lesser woman would have begged him to stay with her. She would have offered another life; a reattempt at his failures with Bae—Neal. He looks into her eyes, and feels a faint wave of déjà vu—he's thought this before, then. Ah, that's it—a night a thousand years ago, the two of them on separate sides of the town line before the crack of a bullet had shattered their fragile dream.

He'd been in awe of her then, too. At this strange, lovely, infinitely _strong _woman, always waiting. Waiting for him and his mistakes, him and his senses, him and his heart. She'd always been waiting.

He makes a vow, then, as he plunges into Neverland after his son—leaving his true love behind. He makes a vow that when they return, she'll never have to wait again.

Not for him. Not for anyone.

* * *

**Be Still – The Fray  
**_(And when you go through the valley, and the shadow comes down from the hill… if morning never comes to be, be still, be still, be still.)_

Sometimes, when darkness falls on the village and his mama goes to the tavern and his papa's out looking after the sheep, Bae dreams of a woman.

She is pretty—just as pretty as his mama, or maybe prettier, but he'd never tell her that. She's got blue eyes that shine and brown hair that bounces in curls and she's laughing with his papa, for some reason. They look strange—his papa looks confident and is oddly dressed, in fancy black pants and a jacket, and instead of his walking stick, he's holding a gold-tipped cane. The woman is in a dress that's much shorter than anyone in the village wears, but it somehow fits.

The dream always starts the same. They are talking, and laughing, about strange things like teacups and books, and then she'll turn her head and her smile will widen and she'll hold out her hand to him. And his papa will turn his head too, and say, "Come on, Bae," and he'll go. He'll always go.

And when he reaches the woman—smiling and sweet and so _safe_—she'll disappear like dust through his fingers, along with his papa, and Bae will wake up—usually to the sounds of his mama yelling at his papa.

But it's okay. Bae snuggles back down, deeper into the scratchy wool blankets. His mama hates his papa, maybe, but in his dreams there is a girl who loves them both.

* * *

**Demons – Imagine Dragons**

_(When you feel my heat, look into my eyes; it's where my demons hide)_

She wants him to see.

She knows he's damaged. She knows he's dark, darker than any man she'd ever known.

But she also knows that she's darker.

The memories of her childhood are shoddy at best, and sometimes, they feel like a life someone else has lived. But then there's a flash—something vivid, something horrific that has her screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night.

_A man with a knife, and her mother screaming, screaming, screaming. A girl under her bed, crying, crying, crying._

She wants him to see—wants him to _know_—she is not this "Belle". She is not the girl who haunts his dreams, the one he calls out for in his sleep. She is not the princess from a long-ago fairytale; she is Lacey French. She is not innocent; she is not kind. She has seen things no little girl should ever see.

And she needs him to know that.

* * *

**Young and Beautiful (Orchestral Version) – Lana Del Rey  
**_(Oh that grace, oh that body. Oh that face, makes me wanna party. He's my sun; he makes me shine, like diamonds…)_

She never knew he liked music, until she found the music box.

It was a beautiful thing, ornately carved out of what she thought was enchanted oak, painted white with baby-pink swirls. When she opens it, she expects a lullaby; a twinkling, tinkering little thing to put a child to sleep, and is almost surprised when something resembling a full-blown orchestra comes rushing out.

And then he is there. Smiling, twittering, and prowling around like a cat on the hunt. She doesn't know how they finally get to dancing, where the line between maid and partner is completely crossed, but she knows it happens somewhere in between smiling words and coy jabs and the faintest innuendoes that don't fail to make her flush.

His hands are on her hips and hers are on his shoulders and there's something off-kilter about what they're doing—sliding and swirling and it is most certainly _not _the traditional waltz she'd been taught in her youth. No, this dance is… different. Heated. They are barely touching but she wants them to, and the feeling of his leather brushing against her legs when he bunches her skirts up is almost too much.

She wants to kiss him.

Almost as if he can read her mind—and who knows, maybe he can; she is beyond the point of caring anymore—he lets her go and spins her around, and she has to stop herself from falling by clinging to a chair she'd nearly collided with. She'd wanted to cry out when his hands had left her heated skin; now she can do nothing but stare, wide-eyed and openmouthed as he traipses from the room, as if he hadn't just reduced her to a quivering puddle of emotion and hormones.

She swears that man will be the death of her.

* * *

**Echo – Jason Walker  
**_(You could come and save me; try and chase the crazy right out of my head)_

When he kisses her, she can taste the promise of salvation on his lips.

She can feel the darkness inside her head begin to ebb backwards, the memory of her mother's death fading into gray oblivion. She loves and hates him for it—this man, this "Mr. Gold". She loves the way he holds her, cherishes the look he sends her, even though he's only sending them to the shell of the girl he loved and lost.

She hates the way he makes her feel; drowning in his love and rapture and the reverence in his eyes.

Being with him, she can almost fall into his fantasy, his fallacy of this ghost named Belle. He could save you, her treacherous mind whispers, he could save you like he'd saved her. You could take him and he can save you from this _hell_ inside your own head.

And she wants to let him; oh, she wants to let him so bad.

* * *

**Clarity – Zedd  
**_('Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need. Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why… if our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy? If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?)_

He figures out what the warm, fluttery feeling in his stomach is when she nearly breaks her neck getting the drapes down.

He can feel her, every inch of her—the blue silk of her dress over his rough fingers, her soft, supple body moving to fit perfectly against his. Their eyes are locked, and he swears time is frozen in that one precious moment.

He knows what this feeling is. And oh, he hasn't felt it since Cora. Since Milah. He has learned to hate this feeling over the years, this all-consuming slow burn starting in the pit of his stomach until it encompasses his entire body. He's learned to hate it, but here, now, with this precious girl caught in the hammock of his arms, he finds himself loving it, too.

He knows how this will end. This will end as it always does—either he'll ruin her, destroy her like he'd destroyed Milah, or she'll find a way to destroy him first, like Cora had. He knows how it will end, and yet—he can't find himself wanting to pull away. He is stuck there, rooted to the ground, unwilling to let her go.

And then she says "Thank you," and the spell is broken. Just like that.

He lets her go and says, "No matter," even though it is.

Oh, it is a very _big _matter, indeed.

* * *

**Whew! Okay, hope you guys liked it. Sorry if my Lacey seemed… Iono, too dark or something? I haven't really caught up with/paid much attention to any of the episodes following "Lacey", but I know the gist of what happened in the season finale and that she was pretty much a pretty sick thing, yeah? So, I kind of played on that, gave her more dimension and my own background story for her.**

**Anyway, all of these songs were from my iPod, just randomly plucked. I personally love "Catalyst" by Anna Nalick - go listen to it, it's so sad but so very gorgeous.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism is always appreciated!**


	32. You Can Step on My Feet

**Summary: **Storybrooke's annual summer festival is in just a few days, and Baelfire has a date. Problem? He can't dance. Belle helps out.

**Fluffy, Belle/Bae LLM-verse family fluff to get you through your day. Or... evening, if you live where I do. Oh, also, just a note—I mention the 12 dancing princesses, but these are the _real _12 Dancing Princesses, with the Goblin King and all that. Not the faerie-made dance troupe Belle had been recruited to in chapter 13.**

**Disclaimer: **Do we really have to keep beating the dead horse? I don't own OUAT, or the song, so tell your lawyers to go home, gosh.

* * *

**_You Can Step on My Feet  
_**_Take my hand, I'll teach you to dance. I'll spin you around, won't let you fall down. Would you let me lead? You can step on my feet. Give it a try; it'll be alright. _[He is We, _All About Us_]

* * *

"Alright, what's got you so down in the dumps?"

Baelfire looked up at the sound of the gentle, accented voice, smiling faintly up at his stepmother. Belle hovered above him, arms crossed, brows raised questioningly. He sat up a little straighter from where he was positioned, seated by one of the tables. The library had just closed for the day, and when he usually accompanied Belle to work, he got right into helping her categorize and organize the different volumes and texts after the last patron left.

He usually wasn't one to slack off, and he'd only meant to sit down for a moment. A moment too long, it looked like, because Belle had noticed his despondency and had honed in on it with the maternal instinct that never failed to surprise Bae.

"It's nothing," the boy tried to say, but one look from his stepmother's sharp blue eyes quickly told him she wasn't—and would not—buy what he was trying to sell. The fourteen-year-old sunk his teeth into his lower lip, deliberating, before trying again. "Really."

"Don't you dare lie to me, Baelfire," Belle said firmly, her eyes then narrowing into an icy blue glare that could put the fear of the gods into the most feared ogre army. It was certainly doing a fine job of putting that fear into Baelfire, anyway.

He let out a breath and winced slightly—she was too good at reading him. At anyone. Or maybe he and his papa were just _really _bad liars. Either way, he knew it wouldn't serve him well to keep up the charade. That would only make her _more _angry. His father's voice rose, unbidden, in the back of his head—

_Let this be a teaching moment. This, Bae, is exactly why you never want to get on a woman's bad side—_especially _not Belle's._

The boy swallowed at the mental image of Gaston's unconscious body in his living room and he immediately made up his mind. "I—I asked someone to the summer festival," he stammered. He'd mentioned a girl he'd liked in passing, much to his father's protective displeasure and Belle's cooing, embarrassing amusement. He'd finally made good on asking that girl out, a couple days ago—Edie, a pretty, vivacious russet-haired honor student in Storybrooke, and the eighth youngest princess in one of the Enchanted Forest's largest kingdoms.

Of course, that fact alone was enough to make Bae hesitant, but any and all hesitancy had fled when Edie had agreed to go with him—quite enthusiastically, too. Apparently, she'd been harboring a bit of a crush on him, too. He'd been ecstatic for the first few hours following his sudden surge of courage…

And then had promptly deflated, once he remembered _who _she was.

Ballet fanatic, owner of an infinite amount of dance trophies, one of the best students at Swann Dance Studios, the eighth sister of the infamous Twelve Dancing Princesses, and a girl who was, generally, pretty amazing on her feet.

And here he was, a boy who usually kept his right foot shoved in his mouth.

Belle smiled once he explained all that to her, close to laughter. Bae reddened instantly when he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up. "Don't _laugh_!" he moaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is a nightmare. I'm going to make a fool out of myself."

A snort escaped Belle, almost against her will, and she gave him a tiny smile, "Sweetie, I'm not laughing. Honest." She paused, then, taking in her stepson with gentle, sympathetic eyes. "And I'm sure you won't make a fool out of yourself. Well… not _completely _anyway." She nudged him playfully, but Bae didn't laugh. He didn't even bother trying to smile. The beauty frowned, and began trying to think of a solution to her stepson's dilemma.

The answer came quickly, accompanied by a mental eye roll and the internal laugh of, _why didn't I think of this in the first place_?

Belle was the daughter of a duke, and had been subject to and the subject of too many balls for her to really count. Dancing had taken precedent to even reading and writing in her studies (much to her younger self's chagrin) and Belle knew the ups and downs of what this world knew as the waltz and a variant of the tango. Not to mention all the times Ruby had dragged her to the Rabbit Hole had left her with a vague knowledge of this world's modern "dance music".

Honestly, she didn't understand how _anyone _could _dance _to most of this world's music, but she'd caught on quickly enough. With a wide smile, the beauty stuck her hands out towards her stepson. "Take my hands."

"Why?" Bae asked warily, eyeing her as if she had some ulterior motive up her sleeve.

Belle rolled her eyes. "Because I'm going to teach you how to dance, of course." She wiggled her fingers invitingly, and with only a little hesitation, Bae took her warm hands in his own. "Okay," Belle began, "Let's start with something simple. Just follow my feet, alright?" She watched Bae carefully as he watched her feet, trying to follow them in a series of steps that came so naturally to Belle, yet left him staggering pathetically behind.

After the fifth or sixth fumble, Belle chuckled, a bit amusedly, not entirely without pity. "Alright, stop, stop, or you'll send us both careening into a bookcase," she laughed, shaking her head. "Let's do this the way my mother taught me. Step on my feet."

Bae let out a slight laugh and raised an eyebrow dubiously when he realized she wasn't kidding. Still, he did as she asked, stepping tentatively on his stepmother's feet, momentarily wincing a bit as his weight settled on hers. This might have been okay five years ago, but he was significantly heavier now than he had been at age nine.

"Don't worry about it," Belle chided, seeming to read his thoughts. "Just memorize my steps."

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin let out a ragged breath of air as he let himself into the currently-closed library, using the spare key Belle had given him. Another long day at the pawnshop, full of plotting evil queens and self-righteous former princes and pretentious blonde saviors. It was what he'd attributed as a normal routine over the past few months since the curse broke, but although he'd long-since grown used to the long hours and whining voices, it was becoming tiresome.

Well, it had been tiresome from the beginning. It had just become more so over the past few weeks. If it weren't for Belle's troublesome friendship with the Charmings and his own concern over Cora, Hook, and Milah's respective reappearances, the gods only knew he wouldn't be putting this much effort into his deals.

The faint sound of laughter broke him out of his thoughts, and the Dark One stood up straighter, frowning.

He walked a little further into the library, following the sound of the voices, only to be confronted with the adorable sight of his true love and his son, the former trying to teach the latter how to dance.

Or, well, she _would _have been teaching him how to dance, had the two of them not been giggling uncontrollably.

"Did I miss something?" he asked amusedly, clacking his cane loudly against the linoleum floor to get their attention.

Belle and Bae looked up, both grinning ear-to-ear as they spied the third member of their familial unit. "Rumple!" Belle said cheerfully, teetering back on her flats, taking Bae into another series of steps as they both tried to suppress their laughter. "Hello!"

"Hello," he echoed, hardly able to keep his own grin from surfacing at the sight before him. "What are you two doing?"

"Mama's teaching me how to dance," Bae said cheerfully, but his fumbling steps told both adults he still had a ways to go.

"Your son has a _date_," Belle cooed suggestively. The tips of Bae's ears reddened as he blushed, and she let out a loud laugh. Taking pity on him, the beauty rolled her eyes and didn't continue her teasing.

Rumpelstiltskin, however, was not as kind. "Oh, does he?" he drawled, an eyebrow rising before he grinned and straightened his back. "Well, of course he does. Any girl would be lucky to have him."

"Says the same man who threatened to turn any girl who broke his heart into a, quote, _slug waiting to be salted_, unquote," Belle said, as Bae led her into a spin. She gave her true love a cheeky grin. "If we had a daughter, you would make sure she stayed single until she was old and gray."

If any of them found the discussion of more kids uncomfortable, no one showed it. Bae, it seemed, hadn't even noticed her unintended quip-turned-slip, instead latching onto a completely different part of what she'd said. "He _what_?" the fourteen-year-old gaped, before whipping his head around to look at his father with wide, horrified eyes. "_Papa_!"

The Dark One shrugged sheepishly in reply, a silent apology, even though everyone could tell he wasn't sorry at all. Belle grinned. "Well, we don't have to worry about that, do we Bae? Edie's a nice girl. Completely accept—_whoop_," the beauty blinked as she was accidentally spun the wrong way, her hand ending up halfway up her back. "Other way, sweetie," she reminded the boy gently, who was flushing in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbled, twisting her the other way.

"It's fine," Belle said gently, leading them seamlessly back into the waltz. On the next spin, however, Bae spun away, and his hands were immediately replaced by his father's. Somewhere between Bae's mess up on the spin, he and Rumpelstiltskin had used their special brand of father-son telepathy or whatever kind of bond they shared to seamlessly switch places.

"Hello, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin drawled, his cane long forgotten, the crutch replaced by magic to numb the pain in his knee, and Belle bit her lip to avoid smiling.

"Hello, honey," she said pleasantly, before turning to look at Bae, who was lounging back on the chair he'd occupied earlier. "And you—we're not done with your lessons!"

"Of course not," Bae said loftily, "But Papa wanted to steal a dance. And who was I to refuse?" He grinned.

"Oh, definitely your son," Belle said, narrowing her eyes playfully and shaking her head at the two boys. The two boys she loved. "Spin me," she commanded, and Rumple laughed, doing as she asked, spinning her out before pulling her back in so they stood, nose-to-nose.

Bae snorted at his father's seamless dance moves. "Show off."

* * *

**Just a bit of family fluff, obviously set in the LLM-verse, canonically after "The Outsider". Don't know when, but it's after then.**

**Anyway, speaking of LLM, I've actually started drafting things! I know, it took forever, and I've been debating it, but people have been asking about it, and I figured why the hell not. So... yeah. Of course, some of these oneshots will be a lot more different than the actual fic once it's out and about. Like... Lacey probably won't exist, as shown by this fic's existence. And Milah will most likely be dead, like in canon. So, sorry, no Belle/Milah catfights, but something tells me you won't miss her much, anyway.**

**And also, since Bae is still a kid, so no Nealfire, maybe no Neal. But Emma will definitely have a significant other. Not saying who, but she will.**

**Anyway, enough with this extremely long A/N. Tell me what you think of the oneshot, and if you have any suggestions involving LLM (whether for the actual fic or any oneshots) I'd love to hear them!**


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